#I’m on so much sensory overload right now and I feel like I’m gonna snap any second

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[hobiebrownismygod]

omg omg omg. Can you write about a gn!reader taking care of Hobie while he has a sensory overload?

I’ve never experienced sensory overload before so I did do some research so understand the symptoms and how to treat them, so hopefully this is accurate!! Thx for requesting <3

Hobie Brown x GN!Reader Taglist - Masterlist

Taking Hobie to this party was a terrible idea. A couple of your friends had invited the two of you, and not thinking much of it, you’d agreed. Hobie had begrudgingly accepted the invitation to be your plus one and the two of you were now shoving through the crowd to try to find a quiet space.

The music was blaring, and the lights were flaring, completely flooding your senses as you dragged Hobie behind you. You were used to this kind of feeling, desensitized to it even, but Hobie seemed to be struggling.

“Hobie?” You looked back at him to see him squeezing his eyes closed as he followed behind you, his head nodding slightly. “Hobie?” You asked again, stopping to pull him towards you a little. He wasn’t responding.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” You asked, putting your hands on his face and caressing him gently to try to help him snap out of it. He continued to be unresponsive, his breathing speeding up as he cowered against you.

That’s when you realized what was happening. He was overstimulated. You gently took his hand and continued to pull him through the crowd, guiding him towards an emptier spot near the corner.

The moment he felt the wall against his hand, he fell down against it, curling up and sitting back, covering his ears with his hands and burying his face in his knees. You kneeled down next to him, gently putting your hand on his shoulder and rubbing him. “It’s okay, Hobes, it’s okay, I’m right here.” You whispered quietly.

He nodded, not lifting his head up. “Just breathe. Remember what we practiced?” You asked in a soothing voice, taking a deep breath in. “Follow me.”

You breathed out and he did too, his exhales coming out in sharp gasps. “Shhh.” You gently pressed your lips to his forehead, covering his ears to give him some relief. “Again.”

Suddenly, you remembered you had your earphones in your pocket. You fumbled for them, quickly connecting them to your phone before gently pressing them into his ears. You played soft, soothing music, which you could see was slowly bringing him back to his normal state.

The two of you did these breathing exercises together over and over until he had somewhat calmed down, finally able to look up at you. His eyes were slightly teary and he immediately pulled you in between his legs, embracing you tightly as he continued to try to catch his breath.

He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes tightly closed as he breathed in rhythm with the music, still holding you close. You kissed his cheek gently, rubbing his shoulders as you leaned your head against his chest, looking up at him with a loving smile.

After a moment, you pulled your jacket off, putting it over his head to prevent any more light from reaching his face. You joined him under it, pressing your face into his neck as you held his hand, running your fingers over his palm gently to give him something to focus on.

After a couple of minutes, he’d reverted back to normal and was leaving gentle kisses on the side of your head as a thank you. “You’re amazing” he murmured, a slight smile on his face as he wiped his eyes. “I love you.”

“It was nothing.” You replied, nuzzling his nose with yours as you cupped his face in your hands. He chuckled softly in response, closing his eyes again, and adjusting the jacket over your heads.

“Didn’t feel like nothing.” He pulled you in by the waist a little more, and kissed your cheek. “I owe you, dove” he kissed you again and you laughed.

“Yeah? How’re you gonna pay me back?”

“I got a few ideas” he chuckled. You gently smacked him on the arm before kissing him again. “I love you” you whispered against his lips, a smile on your face.

“I love you too, dove.”

Taglist: @therealloopylupin2099 @spiderrinn @l0starl @daydreaming-en-pointe @itsparis-07 @vileviale @puff-hugs @d0ubl-tr0ubl3 @lauryn2558 @sunasslut69 @

[soulofapatrick]

Always Been You - Jesse x reader

Summary: Y/N is part of the Jesse; Ellie and Dina trio. Despite being the most observant you are the most oblivious to Jesse’s feelings towards you

Words: 2K

Warnings: mentions of sensory overloads 

Notes: @thefictionalgemini and @moonchildpc​ here’s another Jesse story for ya, the man needs all the appreciation and love he can get. I will tag you in every Jesse I write x

Y/N’s POV

You wouldn’t be able to tell there was an apocalypse going on with the way everyone is dancing and laughing, the music upbeat and the whole atmosphere merry. Most of the town are here, except those few who don’t like the parties and those with young kids who need to stay home for them. I usually take babysitting duties during these but tonight Nancy and the other mums decided I had to go have fun at the dance. 

So here I am, leaning against the wall, sipping on a rum and coke that Ellie forced into my hand a while ago before she disappeared off to somewhere, probably to find Dina who she would follow to the ends of the earth. Both of them are very dumb as they are head over heels for each other but they cannot see for the life of them that the other likes them. It makes me want to just grab them and snap ‘now kiss’ as they cause so much sexual tension when around and when drunk. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” That smooth southern lilt drags me from people watching to look up at the Asian American. He’s got that smile on his face that has my face flushing. Jesse is fit, he always has been and ever since arriving in Jackson with Joel and Ellie he’s on my radar. Ellie’s teased me multiple times about just asking him out but I’m gonna be the one to ruin the little quartet we have going on.  

“Yeah, Nancy told me I had to come.” I shrug lightly as he stops next to me, elbow brushing mine and cognac eyes sparking in the fairy lights strung up around the old barn. His smile is soft and everything about him is welcoming and warm and it makes me rest my head on his shoulder and just go back to people watching as Jesse doesn’t say anything.  

It gets a little uncomfortable after a while so I grab Jesse’s arm, wrapping it around my shoulders in front of me so I can lean my back against his side. He shifts a little before accepting the position and resting his chin atop my head as I finally spot Dina. She’s dancing with a member of the community, he helps in the meat shop but I’m not too sure of his name as he’s man of few words. I think his name might be Adrian but again I could be completely wrong as all I’ve said to him is ‘hi’ and ‘bye’. He seems like a sweet man, I should try talking to him more. 

“What are you thinking about?” Jesse hums, arm pulling me a little closer while I take another sip of my drink as Dina and Adrian spin around the makeshift dance floor, quite a few people’s gazes on her as she’s shameless and her confidence is hard to ignore. If I wasn’t straight I could definitely see myself having a crush on her but she’s been in a weird on and off relationship with Jesse for almost eight months now and honestly it’s killing me. The pair are terrible for each other, Dina and Ellie having wayyyy more chemistry. 

“She’s putting on quite the show, isn’t she?” Ellie’s low voice appears from my right as she joins us, leaning on the wall next to me with a whiskey in hand. Not sure how she managed to get that as she’s not legal for another two years and Maria is quite strict on keeping the age limit to 21, even in a post apocalyptic world. I somewhat admire how she leads with fairness but how even those like that bigot Seth are scared of her. 

Jesse just hums in response, his chin moving against mine in a short nod that has Ellie sending me a knowing smirk that I really hope Jesse doesn’t notice. I focus on drinking my drink and just scanning the room, eyes falling on Tommy and Joel. It’s always great to see the brothers reunited again and being able to as much of a family as they can, Tommy having become a father figure for me. That did surprise me as I always thought Joel would be the father figure in my life after travelling with him and Ellie for almost a year yet Tommy took me under his wing almost immediately. 

I didn’t even realise Ellie and Jesse were having a conversation until Dina’s making her way over to us asking what they were talking about. I don’t mind not being part of the conversation as it’s just nice to have their company and be surrounded by their lively conversations about god knows what. Last time they were talking this animatedly it was an argument over DC and Marvel comics they had found in the old shopping mall just south of Jackson. Personally I’m a Marvel kind of girl, loving the character of Hawkeye and loving the representation for the deaf. 

“She’s not with us, is she?” Dina’s sweet voice floats through my thoughts and I turn to see Ellie and Dina watching me. They smile lovingly at me, Ellie squeezing my arm before they return to their animated conversations and I go back to watching the way Joel throws his head back in a genuine laugh at something Tommy’s said. I’m vaguely aware of Jesse putting his now empty glass down and wrapping his other arm around my front, arms moving to wrap around my waist as he gently begins swaying us in time to the live band. I could be imagining it honestly but I won’t question it as I want it to be real, my body sparking with electricity at the feel of his arms around my waist and his head still settled on top of mine. 

I let my eyes slide shut, leaning back into Jesse with all of my weight and just enjoy the sounds around me . The cute giggles emitted from Dina at a stupid pun Ellie said, Jesse chuffing and chest rumbling against my back. The sounds of many other conversations merging and mixing like the way the fairy lights flow through the rainbow over and over again. The smell of different types of alcohol mixing and the smell of sweaty bodies making an almost sickly feeling in my gut

I grip Jesse’s arm, suddenly aware of and not liking the sticky heat surrounding me from all the sweaty bodies dancing and running around. The three of them seems to understand, Ellie and Dina seeing the slightly panicked look in my eyes as Ellie taps Jesse’s shoulder, saying, “Time to go. Too much.” 

Jesse understands, unwrapping his arms from around my waist to have his right slide down my left arm to grip my hand in his before he begins to navigate his way through the crowds to the exit. I’m gasping in the cold air, resting my forehead to his shoulder as I try to focus on the feel of his hands in mine. 

“What was it this time?” Ellie asks, voice soothing as we all sit on one of the benches outside, Ellie and Dina opposite me and Jesse as I find myself unable to let Jesse’s hand go. 

“Smell.” 

“Yeah that checks out,” She nods, freckles sticking out against her pale skin when she scrunches her nose up, “Was starting to smell really stale in there.” 

“You didn’t have to leave with me.” I mumble, feeling embarrassed now as they’re all focused on me and I have nothing to distract myself with. 

“Yeah we did, we’re not going to just leave you behind dumbass,” Dina reaches out and squeezes my free hand. Then the three of them continue the conversation they were having inside like nothing happened. It helps me relax and I know that they know from the small smiles on their lips. I just spend this time taking in the two girls opposite me. 

Ellie’s auburn hair is done up in a low bun with a strand or two escaping the style. She’s wearing a white tee shirt under the blue checked flannel that I recognise being from my wardrobe, the sleeves rolled up the elbow. The blue draws out the darker shade of green in her clover eyes that are sparkling with every counter Dina throws her way. She’s wiping her hands on her skinny jeans, the tattoo she recently got to cover the bite so she could stop wearing those bandages. Ellie always gives off such a tomboyish style and attitude and I wouldn’t change that for the world because it’s just so Ellie like.

Dina on the other hand is very feminine. She’s also in skinny jeans but she seemed to opt for cowboy boots unlike Ellie’s scuffed and worn converse. Dina’s hair is up in a high bun, completely slicked back except for a select section at the front that frame her rounded face in gentle waves, the only hint that her charcoal black hair isn’t straight. It’s very obvious from her complexion that she’s an IsY/Nlite and jewish, no hate or prejudice. I think she’s beautiful with her chocolate brown eyes a smouldering against the burgundy v-neck she’s wearing. 

They’re both beautiful and everything about them compliments each other. I still think they would be absolutely perfect together if they would stop dancing around each other. The way their hands are always brushing again some part of the other’s skin and they way their gazes linger on each other for a little too long. 

I know what Jesse looks like without having to turn my head and look at him. His appearance seems to be burned into my eyelids with his shaggy liquorice coloured hair that always has strands of his fringe falling into his cognac brown eyes. No matter how many times you brush the hair out of his eyes it’ll fall right back into place. I find it cute and it gives me a reason to be touching him, caressing his cheek when I bring my hand back down. He’s tall and lanky but by no means weak, his muscles are well defined under the long sleeved grey henley he’s currently wearing: not rock solid as there’s definitely give and softness to those muscles. He’s wearing jeans like always and his sturdy boots as he never knows when he’ll have to spring into action when out so he tries to always wear sensible clothing, no matter the occasion. 

Long fingers hook under my chin, causing my eyes to fly open and my face is being turned so I’m looking up at Jesse, eyes bright as he says, “I can hear the cogs turning in your head.” 

“O-oh,” I can’t help but blush, trying to look anywhere but at him when I notice we’re alone, “Where’d Dina and Ellie go?” 

“Dina was getting cold so Ellie offered to walk her home,” He tells me, that southern lilt all I can focus on and the way his lips move around every word, “Shall I walk you home?” I don’t respond, just watching him, unable to respond, “Y/N-“ 

Something comes over me and I’m surging forwards, lips slamming against his surprisingly soft ones. He doesn’t pull away or yell but instead his hands fly to my hip and my cheek, guiding the kiss into a softer one that has me straddling his waist. The kiss is sweet and new territory for us but at the same time it feels like we’ve done this a thousand times. Jesse’s tongue brushes along my bottom lip and I’m parting them with a sigh at how right this all feels. 

“You don’t know how long I have been waiting for this,” Jesse murmurs against my lips and I’m pulling back, the grin on his face widening at the probable shock on mine, “Have you seen me let Ellie or even Dina manhandle me the way you do?” I just shake my head knowing if I speak I won’t be able to keep the quiver out of my voice and he’s holding my face in his hands, laughing softly as he says, “It’s always been you idiot.” 

Maybe I should listen to Ellie more often.

[alwaysbeyondhope]

Here’s some ✨trauma revelations✨ for a Friday afternoon.

I realized this week that I never told my therapist (or anyone, really) about something that I’m still unlearning.

My ex had pet peeves / things that made her uncomfortable - like everyone has. One of those was the feeling of someone breathing on her. And I get it - a hot breath against your skin can be irritating and a sensory overload or whatever.

But when we would cuddle (which became less and less often, but whatever) there was a certain position we would be in, either because of habit or comfort for her or some other reason. But it always happened that I would be in a position where I would be breathing on her. And she would tell me how much it bothered her, or snap at me that I kept doing it.

So in my head - in my “prioritize her above all else, her comfort matters most, put her first” mindset - my solution was simple.

Don’t breathe.

I would try to take the most shallow of breaths, do as little breathing as possible, to eliminate her discomfort.

It never worked out - I’d get light-headed or I would just need to take big breaths which I then expelled and I tried to move my head but it never worked right so I ended up breathing harder on her in those moments, which she took as either me breathing on her on purpose or me sighing really loud - and sighing meant that I was upset and what did I have to be upset about? - but I was just trying to breathe in between not breathing.

And nothing was ever explicitly stated. She never asked me not to breathe, and I never told her that that was the solution I came up with. But I was trying so hard to put her comfort above my own, to make her life as stress-free as possible, shield her from things that might upset her. My no-breathing solution felt like an obvious choice.

And now I think about it and I can’t fucking believe it. Why did I think of that? Why did I think her comfort mattered more than my own? On something like breathing. Literally choosing her comfort over my ability to breathe. What kind of relationship is that, where that’s the only logical choice for me to make?

I have to catch myself cause I still do it sometimes with J. We’ll be cuddling and I’ll be so acutely aware of how I’m breathing, that it’s too much and too deep and breathing too hard on her and I should stop, I should stop breathing and take shallow breaths to not make her uncomfortable. And I have to train myself to relax, to take those bigger breaths.

I’m allowed to breathe. I’m allowed to exist and take up space and prioritize my own comfort.

It’s things like this - and more trauma reminders I keep finding in other little everyday things - that make me realize just how codependent the relationship was. How much I was made to feel like I had to do everything for her, but when we fought she argued that I didn’t care for her at all, that I was selfish and only thought of myself and never did anything for her. That she had to everything herself all the time. That I treated her so badly, she valued herself too much to allow for me to treat her in such a bad way.

And I never understood, and I could never win because if I argued I was gaslighting her, but I thought about all the things I did, all the things I took on as my responsibility so she didn’t have to, the things I gave up - like breathing - to make her comfortable. I couldn’t understand how I could have been doing more to prove she was a priority, when I put her above everything all the time.

I’m gonna be dealing with this trauma for a long time. Uncovering things that were “normal” but were actually really toxic and unhealthy.

Thank god for therapy.

[momomoon]

Kuwabara walked out of the bathroom, towel in hand as he pulled it from his damp hair. 

“You don’t seem surprised.” 

Kuwabara glanced at Yusuke sitting on the edge of his bed, one leg crossed over the other. “Your energy never left the house.” 

“You’re still training that?” Yusuke raised an eyebrow.

“It’s never been off since you died, Urameshi. I’ve always known where you and all our friends were.” 

“I never noticed.” Yusuke frowned. “Isn’t that what like sensory overload?” 

“Got over it pretty quick. We’ve got some big personalities in our group, if you know what I mean.” Kuwabara mumbled as he tossed the towel off to the side of his room. “You’re not here to chit chat about powers you already know I have so spill. Why are you still here?” 

Yusuke avoided Kuwabara’s eye, his hand clenched and then unclenched almost immediately after. He looked Kuwabara up and down before he sighed and sucked it up. 

“I can’t believe you’re so much taller than me,” Yusuke mumbled. 

“You stayed to talk about my height?” Kuwabara raised an eyebrow. He picked at the bandages covering his arms before tucking the loosened bandage around his torso. 

“Well, this would be easier if you weren’t a giant!” Yusuke snapped back.

“What would be easier, Urameshi? Are you just going to sit and stare, man? I’m exhausted, and I need some sleep after this past week. You know, cause I almost but not quite died.” Kuwabara crossed his arms, but Yusuke noticed the strain right away. 

“Ugh, don’t say that.” Yusuke glowered. 

“Say what? That I died? What else should I call it then, hotshot?” 

“Just shut up! It sounds horrible.” 

“Uh, news flash, dude, you’ve died. More than once, I might add. What’s the problem?” Kuwabara tried to playoff the slight tension he was feeling from Yusuke. 

“That’s the point! You gave up this life. You’re graduating college in three months! Then you go and risk your stupid life over nothing!” Yusuke growled. 

“You’re being ridiculous, Urameshi. You needed my help and I stepped up. What’s the problem?” 

“The problem is that you shouldn’t have almost died again! You should never have been there in the first place!” Yusuke stood up.

“Then please explain how you would defeat the demon if you didn’t just dangle the tasty human in front of it, huh? It wasn’t gonna eat you, or Kurama, or Hiei.” Kuwabara trailed his hand through his damp curls. He could feel a headache coming on. 

“We could have found another way!” 

“I was the other way, man! We’ve done this a dozen times. This isn’t the first time I’ve been out there with you.” 

“I didn’t want you there, and this is exactly why!” Yusuke motioned to Kuwabra’s bandaged form. Half his body was wrapped in bandages while the rest was bruised or scratched. 

“Look, man, I don’t know what to tell you. Just out of the way. I’m tired, and this conversation is not helping.” Kuwabara sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for any of this. He knew he was the weakest link. He always had been, but hearing it straight from Yusuke’s mouth again? It never lessened his hurt whenever Yusuke wanted him excluded. “Also, could you tap down on the energy? You’re not helping in the slightest.” 

Yusuke lowered his energy as he watched Kuwabara climb into his bed. He stayed silent as he watched him struggle to navigate the soreness and pain. Having your neck nearly gouged out, and your intestines in your hands could do that to a person. 

“Wait.” 

Kuwabara grunted as he finally settled in a semi-comfortable position on his bed. “What?” 

 “I don’t want to fight.” 

“Kind botched that one up, don’t you think?” Kuwabara gently set his head on his pillow. 

“Can I just do something?” 

“Will it cause me any more pain than you’re giving me now?” Kuwabara closed his eyes as he tried to relax.  

Yusuke stayed silent as he watched Kuwabara on the bed. 

“Whatever. Do you your worst.” Kuwabara waved a hand at him. 

Kuwabara hadn’t realized he’d already been dozing when he felt Yusuke walk up to him and kneel by his bed. Yusuke leaned over him. Kuwabara’s eyes shot open immediately and he groaned when his body tensed as he tried to move. 

“Ugh, I think you could have done that differently,” Kuwabara complained as he fell back into his pillow.  

“Probably,” Yusuke winced.

“That explains a lot, though. I just thought you were annoyed by me.” 

“I’m always annoyed by you.” Yusuke joked. 

“Ha Ha,” Kuwabara snorted. “Now get over here and do it right this time, or I’ll kick your ass myself for that half-assed confession. 

“Tch. Who said it was a confession? I was trying to shove some sense into that big skull of yours.” 

“Yeah, yeah, and you did it with your lips. Everyone’s excuse. Now do it right or get out.” Kuwabara challenged. 

“You’re gonna have to make me. Oh, wait, you can’t.” 

“So you can make jokes about me being almost maimed to death, but I can’t even mention it? Nice job, Urameshi.” Kuwabara rolled his eyes and yawned. “This conversation is not done. I better not find out that you escaped to Demon World because you couldn’t admit your undying love for me.” 

“Undying love? Yeah, right.” Yusuke scoffed. “I’ve already died twice. Try again.” 

“That’s not what that means.” Kuwabara's eyes blinked closed. “Mmm, ‘m serious. Stay.”

[tommysparker]

Never Forget You [Chapter 4]

A/N: hey y’all. just wanna say sorry for the posting schedule change. life is about to get hella hectic with school and the move sooo yeah. every second Saturday I will be posting! it’ll defiantly give me a chance to write more as well so im not rushing out chapters. anyways ive rambled long enough, enjoy :) 

Warnings: angst. theres fluff too but its fluffy angst?? im not sorry hehe. long italic paragraphs = flashbacks. 

From an outside perspective, one would assume the four of them were deep in thought, perhaps even communicating telepathically via the Force. They would only be half correct, as all of the Jedi were indeed thinking, but none of their trains of thought overlapped.  

Anakin and Ahoska were in the pilot seats, glancing at each other every other minute or so. They could feel the tension build thicker with every passing planet. The only sound filling the room was the faint running of the engine that kept the ship moving. 

You and Obi-Wan sat across from each other, neither one daring to make eye contact. Apparently, he was quite serious about the “not speaking from now on” agreement. It’s for the best, you kept telling yourself. However, the awkward silence that filled the ship made it harder to believe that. 

Out of all the things that could happen to you at the moment, this was by far the worst. 

On Gyfil, you had grown quite used to the sound of silence. In fact, over time you began to prefer it as opposed to the buzz of the towns. However, this was a different type of silence, one that had you bouncing your knee in anticipation for Anakin to announce you finally landed. 

Master Yoda had called you all for a mission briefing. There was a supposed Separatist group meeting on Ostor, given the intel you received from a client on your previous mission. The four of you were sent to listen in on it. 

“Young Skywalker and Padawan Tano, back up you will be. Great risks on Ostor, there are. Careful, you must be.” He turned to Obi-Wan and You. “Master Y/l/n, guide them you must do. In charge of the mission, I am putting you.” 

A sense of pride filled your body but you quickly humbled yourself. “Thank you Master.” 

Master Yoda smiled and turned to Obi-Wan. “Infiltrate the meeting, you and Master Y/l/n will. Stay together, you must.” 

Obi-Wan would have laughed at the irony. Mentally he still is. Stay together, you must. After the last conversation between the two of you, he had doubts about how that plan would go. However, for the sake of the mission he was willing to lift the deal made. 

You stood quietly, not being able to handle the loud silence any longer. “I’ll be in my quarters until we land,” you announced, making a point not to look at Obi-Wan and keep all attention to Anakin and Ahsoka. 

You left without sparing a glance back. 

He waited until you were out of view to let out a long sigh, running a hand over his beard and hunching forward. 

Anakin was the first to speak. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever had to endure.” His shoulders shook as he made a disgusted sound. “Glad it’s finally over.” 

“Just focus on getting us there in one piece, Anakin,” Obi-Wan snapped, immediately followed by, “apologizes, I didn’t mean to sound so...aggressive.” 

“So much for being able to hide stress, huh?” 

He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Some things are harder to deal with than others.” 

“Is Master Y/l/n ‘some things’?” Ahoska asked innocently. 

Obi-Wan pondered for a minute, deciding the best way to answer. “Master Y/l/n is...many things.” 

“Like what?” 

Gorgeous. Strong. Kind. Perfect in every way. “They are highly skilled, almost as well as I am, if not better. A fine Jedi and a valuable member to the Order.” He stopped there before he’d say something he’d come to regret. Best to keep professional thoughts. 

“I still don’t understand why the Council sent them away like that. Surely there were other Jedi that could have completed the mission,” Anakin commented. He knew his former Master wasn’t satisfied with the answer they were all given but would never admit it. He had to push him to find the truth. 

“Whatever reasons Master Yoda and Master Windu had for picking Y/n are between them. You must stop questioning the Council’s intentions, Anakin. It will land you in very big trouble one day.” Obi-Wan says as if he hasn’t second guessed the Order as a whole before. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. The less you question things, the easier life is. 

“That’s why I keep you around, old man,” Anakin said in a teasing manner. Hearing Obi-Wan let out a light chuckle made him feel a bit better as they settled into silence once more, this time more comfortable and light-hearted. 

A bit more time had passed before Ahsoka spoke up. “Why don’t you ask Master Y/l/n what really happened?” 

Obi-Wan sighed. He should have known better than to believe she would drop the topic. Like Master, like Padawan. “It’s none of my business. Frankly, it’s none of ours so I suggest we leave the subject alone.” 

His answer, apparently, wasn’t good enough. “I’m gonna go ask them.” Ahsoka stands up to leave but is stopped mid-movement by Obi-Wan’s protests. 

“No!” He looked at Ahsoka’s slightly stunned face, and chose to ignore Anakin’s smug look. “Fine, I’ll ask them. But only once, and if they don’t want to indulge me then that is the end of it. Do I make myself clear?” 

“Crystal.” 

Meanwhile, you sat alone on the bed in your chosen quarters. It made you feel relaxed, in a way. Before leaving, you were extremely extraverted, always going out of your way to make acquaintances with everyone around you. The life forces around you at night kept you alive, it gave a sense of warmth and comfort to lull you to slumber. On Gyfil, there was none of that. You had to rely on your own warmth to comfort yourself to sleep. No lush trees or animals to provide even the smallest bit of connection. It was just You and the Force. Sleeping for the first time in the Jedi Temple after returning felt like a sensory overload. Everything was loud, and rough. You could feel it coursing through your veins at the speed of light. No matter what you did, it was too much. 

You didn’t sleep the first few days. Eventually you got used to the noise, but not enough to get a decent amount of rest at night. There was one sound that sometimes made it impossible to sleep, one Force signature that kept trying to break through the walls you put up to protect yourself when you’re most vulnerable. What scared you the most was the fact your own signature subconsciously fought back against the walls you put. You refused to acknowledge it, choosing to fall into a deep meditative slumber and stay alert as opposed to any actual sleep. Whoever it was would not get into your head so easily. 

Knock knock. Obi-Wan stepped into the room once his presence was made known, gently shutting the door behind him. “Y/n…” 

You looked up and squinted at him. “I thought we agreed to not speak?” 

“Yes, well, that proves to be a bit tricky now doesn’t it?” He smiled tightly and crossed his arms over his chest. 

You huffed out air in a sorry attempt at a sarcastic laugh, shaking your head a little. “What do you want, Obi-Wan?” 

It was neither hostile nor endearing. It was simply his first name. To him you sounded tired, and judging by the way you sat on the cot, leaning back against the cold metal wall with your eyes half opened, he presumed his assumption was correct. He spoke gently, “Anakin estimates we should be coming out of hyperspace and landing soon.” 

“I figured.” It wasn’t your intention to be stoic but that's how you’ve been training yourself to speak to the man in front of you. The faster the conversation ends, the faster he leaves. 

Obi-Wan, however, was not having it. “How are you feeling? I know it hasn’t been that long since you returned from your previous assignment.” 

You shrugged, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m fine.” 

“No one who says that is ever truly ‘fine’ Y/n/n,” he says, taking a step closer to the bed. “I know you. What’s on your mind, darling?” 

You slowly met his gaze, debating whether to open up or keep yourself closed off. On one hand, the idea of exposing your anxieties to someone didn’t feel right to you, letting someone know about your weaknesses and insecurities. However, you knew in order for the mission to succeed you would have to be willing to work with Obi-Wan and to do that a sense of trust had to be built. Rebuilt, technically. 

“If you wish not to speak, I understand.” He hesitated turning his back to you, “excuse me.” He was about to make his leave before you interrupted. 

“Obi-Wan, wait,” You sighed, shifting so there was room for him to sit on the bed. “Sit.” 

He did as he was told, eyeing you carefully. “Honestly, I don’t mean to pry.” 

“It’s fine.” You knew his intentions and as pure as they were you cannot bring yourself to tell him the truth. “I admit that I...am slightly concerned about the mission.” 

It wasn’t the answer Obi-Wan was hoping for, but he was willing to hear anything he could get out of you. “You have nothing to be worried about Y/n/n. You’re an extremely capable Jedi and I have no doubt in my mind you will lead us through it.” 

You smiled, only slightly but a smile nonetheless. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” He smiled back. 

Your eyes locked tight with each other, and everything around you became emptiness. A void surrounded you both and the presence of the other was all that could be felt. 

“Staring competitions are pointless.” You rolled your eyes, sitting up straight and attempting to return your meditative state. 

“No they aren’t!: Obi-Wan argued from his spot across from you. 

“All you do is stare at each other until someone blinks. Waste of time.” 

“Nuh uh. Master Qui-Gon told me that--” Obi-Wan stood up, “--‘The eyes are a window to the soul’--” you laughed at the bad attempt he made to mimic his Master;s voice, “--therefore staring competitions can be a very good battle tactic.” 

“Jedi don’t do battles, remember? We’re peacekeepers.” You looked up at your friend. “Besides, you just want an excuse to get lost in my eyes.” 

Obi-Wan grinned. “You know me so well.” 

So much has changed about the man in front of you, you could hardly recognize him. You never allowed yourself the pleasure to examine what you missed out on. One moment he was a young man who looked like he could take on the universe, and now all you could see was one tired man doing his best. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, is what the old You would have teased. But post-living-ten-years-by-yourself You was different. In a way, you understood. Although you didn’t fight any life-threatening battles and put yourself in the line of fire every week, you have worked tirelessly towards the same goal. 

Peace. 

Like this moment. 

For once, it was quiet. You felt yourself relax slowly, focusing on the one noise that soothed your anxious mind. It felt warm and...close. Something you haven’t felt in a long, long time. 

Obi-Wan leaned closer, his heart reacting faster than his brain. He felt a warmth he had been longing for over a decade. When he reached out, he no longer felt desolate. He wanted to hold on to the feeling and never let go. 

But alas in time of war, small moments of peace only last for so long. 

“Hey! We’re here.”  

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reblog and comment what will happen on the mission  👀👀

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[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

congrats on 500!!! 🥳

can i request boggie (romantic or platonic) and “can i hold your hand?” 🥺

Thanks bestie!! This is my longest prompt fill so far lol, it kind of got away from me. This is my very first time writing Boggie, and my first time writing in Reggie’s POV, so have fun. Also you asked for sensory overload Bobby but I didn’t think I could do that justice so I did migraine Bobby instead. This technically takes place in my headcanon universe of my longfic, but you don’t need to have read that to understand this. Hope you like it!

--

Bobby’s gone.

Reggie doesn’t think anyone but him has noticed yet. Luke and Alex are too busy arguing with each other (good-naturedly, with no real anger or malice; Reggie can always tell the difference, without even having to pay attention to what they’re arguing about, though this time he’s pretty sure it has something to do with which color m&m is superior).

But anyway, Luke and Alex aren’t paying attention to anything but each other, and Bobby slipped out twenty minutes ago with a pained expression and a mumbled excuse and he hasn’t come back yet, and apparently only Reggie has noticed.

He’s not sure what he should do about it, though. Reggie likes Bobby—he’s a great guitar player, and his movie collection is unparalleled, and one time when Reggie showed up at school with a black eye, Bobby got suspended for two weeks because he decked a guy who tried to make fun of Reggie for it—but as much as Reggie would like him and Bobby to be friends, it can’t be denied that Bobby is… well… Luke’s. And not just because Luke is even more touchy-feely with Bobby than he is with everyone else, or because Luke spends every other night sharing Bobby’s bed because he has nightmares (something Reggie doesn’t think he’s actually supposed to know), or because whenever Luke and Bobby are in a room together, they can’t stop looking at each other. But also because the only reason Bobby joined the band in the first place was because he was there for Luke when Reggie and Alex weren’t. He was Luke’s best friend when Reggie failed to be.

And Reggie hates to take sides (especially because Luke once got really mad at him and literally accused him of taking sides), but if Luke is on Bobby’s and Alex is sorta vaguely not, Reggie feels like he’s kind of statistically obligated to balance it out. So as much as they’re all a band, and as much as Luke will always be Reggie’s first and best friend, and as much as Reggie would love to get closer to their rhythm guitarist, sometimes they just can’t help pairing off, and when they do, Sunset Curve becomes, well, Luke and Bobby—Reggie and Alex. 

But anyway. Reggie checks his watch. Bobby has now been gone twenty-five minutes, and Luke and Alex have moved on to discussing which animated m&m from the commercials they would date if given the option, and Reggie’s starting to get a little worried.

“Hey, guys?” he says, putting aside the bass he’d been sort of plucking at. “Can you shut up for a second?”

Luke and Alex immediately stop their bickering and turn to look at him, faces lit with matching concern. “Yeah, Reg?” Alex says gently.

“You okay, bro?”

Reggie manages a smile. They both know him so well. He gives a quick shake of his head to assure them he’s fine, their arguing wasn’t too much (later, once he’s sure Bobby’s okay, he might even put his two cents in, since the answer to both debates is obviously Green). “Do you know where Bobby went? He hasn’t come back yet.”

Alex frowns, and Luke looks around the studio as if he’s just then realizing that Bobby’s not still sitting on the couch next to him where he was half an hour ago.

“Where’d he go?” Luke gets up off the couch and clambers over the coffee table to cross the studio, past Reggie and Alex. He hauls open one of the doors and peers out into the driveway, then frowns back over his shoulder at them. “I don’t see him. He must’ve gone into the house.” A flash of something crosses his expression and he glances nervously from Reggie to Alex and back again. “I—I’d go look for him, but I don’t know if his parents are home, the car’s here.”

“I’ll go,” Reggie offers before it can become a thing, the fact that Bobby is Luke’s but Luke can’t even go after him when he leaves the studio because Luke is a missing person who Bobby’s parents don’t know lives in their garage.

“Thanks, Reg,” Luke says, and Reggie gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder as he passes.

Reggie doesn’t have to go far. He follows the path up from the driveway and catches sight of Bobby right away, sitting on his front porch with his face buried in his knees and his arms wrapped protectively around his head.

“Hey, there you are!” Reggie calls out without thinking, and then regrets it when Bobby’s head snaps up and he flinches with his whole body, a tiny whimper escaping his mouth just loud enough for Reggie to hear across the garden. Bobby’s face is so pale it’s almost green, and his eyes are hidden behind these thick dark sunglasses Reggie’s never seen him wear before.

Reggie’s heart lurches, and he hurries up the rest of the path. He sinks gently onto the porch step next to Bobby and asks as quietly as he can, “Bobby, what’s wrong?”

Bobby shoots him a shaky, unconvincing smile and whips his shades off. “Nothing, Reg, I’m—fuck.” Reggie gets half a glimpse of Bobby’s eyes—squinty and dull and full of so much pain—before Bobby goes another shade whiter, shoves his sunglasses back on, and presses his face into his lap with a groan.

Reggie’s concern spikes. He hovers a hand over Bobby’s shoulder, wanting to help but not sure if touching him when he’s like this will only make things worse. “Bobby? What—what’s going on with you, man? You’re scaring me.”

Bobby gives a miniscule shake of his head, still hidden in his folded arms. “I—it’s just… headache,” he mumbles, the words slow and slurred and muffled like even just opening his mouth too wide hurts him. He breathes heavily for a moment or two, then adds, “Really bad headache.”

“Oh.” Somehow, that’s… not what Reggie thought was happening here. Part of him relaxes some, even though his worry doesn’t lessen.

If Bobby were having a panic attack, like Alex gets sometimes, or one of those everything’s too much feelings that make it physically impossible for Luke to wear sleeves most days, then Reggie wouldn’t know what to do, how to help. Stuff like that is too personal, too individualized, and Reggie doesn’t know Bobby that well. But pain—physical pain—that, Reggie can deal with. That, Reggie knows all too well.

“Can I get you anything? What do you need?”

Bobby’s quiet for a moment, then: “Dark. Cold. Quiet… Maybe some medicine if I can keep it down.”

Reggie nods, even though he knows Bobby can’t see him. “We can do that. Is there a reason you were sitting out here in the first place? Probably easier to get dark and cold and quiet in your room, don’t you think?” He cranes his neck to see Bobby’s window above the porch roof. Reggie’s only been in there a handful of times, but if Bobby gets these headaches often, the blackout curtains on Bobby’s bedroom window suddenly make a lot more sense.

(Though, Reggie can’t help but wonder, if Bobby gets these headaches often, how has Reggie never noticed before?)

“Dizzy,” Bobby mumbles, and Reggie cuts his gaze sharply back to him. It takes a second to register that Bobby’s answering Reggie’s question and not necessarily describing how he feels now. “Couldn’t… stairs.” A pause thick enough for Reggie to get the sense there’s more, and then Bobby admits, his voice smaller than Reggie’s ever heard it, “Tried to ignore it too long. Been kinda coming on all day, but I didn’t wanna ruin rehearsal.”

Reggie’s heart gives a pang of sympathy. He makes a mental note to give Bobby a talk later, when he’s feeling better, about hiding stuff like this—and then maybe he’ll give Luke and Alex (and himself) a talk about whatever they did to make Bobby feel like he has to.

But all that can wait. For now, his only priority is getting Bobby settled in bed with all the lights off and an icepack on his head. “Okay, Bobby, I’m gonna get you inside so you can rest, okay? But can I try something first?”

Bobby stiffens. “Try what?”

Reggie’s heart’s beating a little too fast, though he’s not sure why. He swallows, tries to ignore the fact that he’s definitely blushing, and says, “Can I hold your hand?”

Bobby’s silent and still for so long that Reggie starts to worry he’s overstepped. But before he can figure out how to backtrack, Bobby grumbles something unintelligible into his lap and flops a hand in Reggie’s face. Reggie grabs it, hoping his own hands aren’t too sweaty, and expertly applies pressure to the point between the base of Bobby’s thumb and index finger.

The effect is almost instantaneous: Bobby shudders, and his muscles relax like a ripple going through him, and he slowly sits up and raises his head. Reggie can’t really read his expression with the sunglasses still on, but what he can see of Bobby’s face looks less pinched, less pained, and he’s gotten some of the color back in his cheeks.

He stares at Reggie, mouth hanging open, and breathes, “Whoa.”

Reggie blushes, self-conscious, but doesn’t stop gently massaging Bobby’s hand. “Better?”

Bobby nods. “How—how did you know how to do that?”

Reggie manages a sheepish smile. “My mom gets migraines. And, well, hangovers. So I’ve kinda picked up some tricks. Coffee really helps her, too, if you can stomach it.”

Bobby’s still staring at him, and Reggie swallows, his stomach giving a weird little flip that’s not exactly unpleasant. Finally, Bobby looks away and gingerly pulls his hand out of Reggie’s to rub at his temples. “Well, thanks, Reg, that really helped. I’m gonna go inside before it gets worse again. Can you, uh—”

“Yeah, yeah, no, I’ll—tell the guys… something.”

Bobby gives him a shy, grateful smile, and then slowly pushes himself to his feet.

When the front door closes behind Bobby, Reggie lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He feels jittery and out of breath, like he just drank seven sodas or ran a marathon or something. His hands are tingly where they’d touched Bobby’s, and he can’t get the image of that last little smile out of his head.

Bobby doesn’t smile very often, and when he does, it’s not like that.

(And if it is, it’s not at Reggie.)

Reggie mutters a curse and copies Bobby’s earlier position, his face hidden in his hands. Because he thinks he might like Bobby.

But Bobby is Luke’s.

sorry bestie

Send me a pairing and a prompt to celebrate my 500th follower!

--

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[foriland]

12 with Dick, Jason and sensory overload and /or noise sensitivity, for the angst prompt? 👀 ♥

Prompt 12: “Don’t! Just, stop. Stop talking.”

Hope this hits what you wanted Gem! <3

Warning for mild-ish panic attack.

--------

Jason’s ears were ringing as he brushed away his family’s concerns. He’s fine, he tried to convince them. He really was. Just because Joker was part of an Arkham breakout doesn’t mean that he would automatically have a panic attack. He’s not that pathetic. He just needed some time to himself.

If only Dick wasn’t blocking his way and Tim and Damian weren’t arguing somewhere in the Cave.

The latest Arkham breakout has set Joker, Scarecrow and Ivy on the loose, the latter two had already been rounded up earlier which only left the clown himself. And Jason was not freaking out. His heart was just running a bit too fast was all, lingering effects of that mild fear toxin that had managed to pushed through the cracks in his helmet. But no one knew that, and no one had too. The thing was diluted enough to hardly affect him at all.

Damian was yelling  from his place at the showers, “I could have had him if you-”

“If I hadn’t saved your head?” One could hear the eyes roll in Tim’s voice.

“If you hadn’t tried to put your nose where you shouldn’t!”

Jason could tell that it was just their regular banter, even if they started to call each other some... undesirable words. That was just how they bond.

He rubbed his palm over his ear to hopefully stave away the panic in his chest and ringing in his ears. His other hand was busy trying to literally brush Dick away from him. This guy really needed to learn personal space.

“Jay, c’mon. You were hit by the gas, weren’t you?” Welp, so much for no one knowing. “Just stay for a while and let us look you over.”

Jason shook his head. “No no. Just get off me, Dick.”

Dick was apparently stubborn tonight and Jason was too tired and frayed to try to be intimidating. “No. Jason, please.”

Jason bit his tongue as he heard Damian screaming something in response to Tim’s ‘friendly’ insult. Control your breathing, he repeated to himself, control your breathing. “Fine. I’ll stay at the manor,” he bargained. “Happy?”

Dick wasn’t. “Jason, are you hiding an injury from us?”

“No-”

“Then please just let us check-”

Jason barely suppressed a flinch, breath stuttering for a moment as there was a loud slam from Tim and Damian’s argument followed by Bruce’s loud “Enough!” stopping the fight.

Apparently, he wasn’t subtle enough for Dick, whose eyes sharpened. “Jay something’s wrong.” Like he didn’t already know that. He had been having this problem since he was a kid! “Are you sure-”

His panic finally snapped into anger as he snarled, “Yes, Dick. I am fine. And I will continue to be so if. You. Move.”

Dick seemed stupefied enough to not stop Jason this time and he marched up the stairs to the grandfather clock, rounding it before running to his temporary room. At least he tried.

Energy seemed to have left his as soon as he reached the bedroom corridor, panic seizing up his throat. He dug his nails into his palms as he pressed down on his ears. There was still screaming, yelling- laughing- talking- voices just echoing into his ears no matter what he tried. He sucked in a breath as he pressed himself into a dark corner- he didn’t know where, he didn’t care.

He never understood why he always had panic attacks when this happens. Why his throat always closed up whenever his family fight, even if it was a playful banter that just sounded vicious. It had been happening even when he was still living with Willis and his mom.

In his defence, he had been getting better at controlling it, learning how to counter it, how to best calm himself down without attracting any sort of attention to himself. No one had ever notice it even if he was there, on the verge of a panic attack, because they didn’t need to know. He didn’t want them to. And it wasn’t his fault that he lost control this one time, it was the mild fear toxin slightly messing up his brain.

He swallowed another gulp of air, willing the ringing and yelling in his ear to just stop as he pulled himself up, stumbling to his temporary room. He fumbled to turn the doorknob, leaning against the doorframe before walking in. He didn’t get to close the door, however, as Dick was suddenly there following him in. Lips were moving but Jason couldn’t make out the words. There was just voices and yelling getting louder and louder-

Dick was holding his arms, blue eyes wide with concern and- It wasn’t supposed to be this way- Dick wasn’t supposed- No one was supposed to know. And Dick was still talking and-

“Don’t!” Jason blurted out, pulling back deeper into the darkness of his room, hoping that the darkness would bring him comfort today. It always was a hit and miss ever since he came back to life.

He finally was able to catch Dick’s words over the piercing ringing and echo in his mind. “Jay, it’s alright. It’s just me.”

He shook his head, willing Dick to understand. To just stop talking. He wasn’t experiencing a flashback. He’s just... He didn’t really know what was wrong with him. But he’ll be fine as soon as Dick stop talking and leave him alone.

“Little Wing, come here... fine... the manor, remember... okay...”

What little control he was starting to have over himself spiralled back out. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to just ignore. He’s with no one, hearing no one, seeing no one.

Except for Dick. Who was still there. Talking, blabbering.

“Shut up!” Jason finally snapped, a sob fighting its way out of him.

Luckily, Dick did.

Jason sucked in a breath, once, twice, thrice. His mind had started to clear slightly. The full impact of the knowing that Dick just saw him panicking tried to take his control away but he ignored it.

He felt hands on his arms, raised to press his palms into his ears, fingers clawing at his hair.

“Jay-”

“Don’t,” Jason cut him off, eyes opening to see Dick’s; wide, uncertain and concerned. “Just... stop. Stop talking. Don’t.”

Dick visibly swallowed, and Jason took that as a sign that Dick would stop making any sort of noises, as he turned away to his bed, dropping heavily onto the mattress. He pulled up his legs to his chest resting back against the headboard as he took another deep breath, closing his eyes and letting the panic subside. He could really use a cigarette right now. Too bad he was trying to stop smoking for his family’s sake. No need for them to suffer second-hand smoking, especially since he’s hanging around them so much now.

Dick had never been the one to sit still as he, predictably, started to approach him, albeit slowly, feet making only the slightest shuffle across the wooden floor, the sound purposely done for Jason’s sake. The mattress dipped slightly as Dick sat in front of him.

He cracked an eye open to his brother staring at him, lip pulled slightly between his teeth, nervous. And Jason’s automatic reaction to people staring at him after of during his panic attacks, was anger. He sometimes hated himself for it. “What?” he snapped.

Dick’s eyes flickered with a flinch. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Jason scowled. “I said I was fine, didn’t I?” He didn’t want to have this conversation with anyone, much less Dick.

“That- That wasn’t just fine, Jason.”

“So what? I freaked out, big deal. Not the first time, Goldie, and it ain’t gonna be the last.”

“But, Jay-”

“Forget that happened, Dick. Just go, leave me alone and let me sleep.” Jason rested his forehead onto his knees as he wrapped his arms loosely around his legs. He was tired, exhausted. But he’d be lying if he said that he could sleep right now. But a little lie had never hurt anyone. Not always.

There was a sigh. “I’m not leaving, Jay. I’m not. You’re obviously not fine and... it’s okay to not be and ask for help.”

“I don’t need help,” Jason mumbled, trying to ignore the cornered-trapped feeling in his chest. “I’m fine.”

He felt Dick shifting across the bed to rest beside him, the warmth and comfort of his brother was inviting. “Jason, can you at least tell me what is going on?”

No!, Jason wanted to scream. But he didn’t. He didn’t even realise he was talking until the words were falling out of his mouth and he couldn’t stop them. “I don’t know. I just get... freaked out when there are loud noises, voices specifically. I don’t know why but it always just... happens.”

Dick was quiet for a moment, and small, younger part of Jason was scared, of judgement, of disapproval, of rejection. “Is it just any... voices?”

Jason gave a half-hearted shrug. “Not really. Generally, it is when... you guys fight. Or even sometimes when you all are joking around and I... feel it. I never had a problem when patrolling, though, even before I died.”

“You mean this had been happening even before... How long has it been, Jay?”

“I don’t know.” He lifted his head to rest his chin on his knees, staring at the door they had left open. He hoped his other siblings hadn’t seen him earlier. He hoped Bruce hadn’t. “It’s been happening for as long as I can remember.”

“Anything I can help you with? Like... Can I do anything to help you with it?”

With another shrug he mumbled, “I don’t know.” Other than stop talking when Jason tells him to and leaving him alone when he wanted it, there really wasn’t much Dick could do.

“Can you at least tell me whenever you-”

He scoffed, finally turning to Dick. “And tell the whole family that I am more problematic than they think? That I cannot hold my head together just because someone decided to talk louder than a normal volume?”

“No, Jason. That’s not what I meant. Just... I cannot always tell whether or not you are... affected by something. Just do something to tell me if you are ever feeling overwhelmed. A signal, something.

Or maybe you can just pay more attention to your surroundings, Jason didn’t say. Instead, he breathed a quiet, “Okay.”

“Thank you,” was Dick’s unexpected reply. There was a beat, before he asked again, “Can I... hug you?”

Jason found himself giggling, a soft laughter flooding out of him. He understood and appreciated the gesture, but a lot of permission-asking in this family still amused him. “Of course, dimwit.”

His own smile was reflected on Dick, who did a gentle version of tackling him and Jason let himself be dragged under the sheets, Dick’s array of limbs cocooning him, for once making him feel safe, protected.

A thought struck him and he glanced at the door. Huh, when did it close? Who closed it?

He couldn’t pay it much attention as Dick’s fingers were starting to comb his hair. He hated and loved that his family knew just what he liked. His eyes closed as he felt Dick pressing a quick kiss to his forehead and he was too tired to protest the childish action, only burrowing into his brother’s shoulder.

[zosonils-art]

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Relationship: Ferb Fletcher & Phineas Flynn

Characters: Ferb Fletcher, Phineas Flynn, Perry the Platypus (Phineas and Ferb), Linda Flynn-Fletcher

Additional Tags: Autistic Ferb, Autistic Phineas, autistic phineas is more implied and could also be taken as adhd but he has both anyway so, Autistic Meltdown, Autism, Sensory Overload, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Illustrations, Canon Continuation, Fix-It of Sorts, i think????? i don't frequent this goddamn website i don't know, Brotherly Love, Crying, some of the crying is me

Summary: A stressful day pushes Ferb past his breaking point, and Phineas feels that he has a responsibility to set things right. Takes place immediately after Ready For The Bettys. Was supposed to be a simple continuation fic but got wildly out of hand. Ph*n*rb shippers fuck off this isn't for you.

---

as you’ve probably figured out if you’re following my main, i recently wrote my first fic since i was about 13! it’s available on ao3 at the link above, but you can also read it on tumblr by clicking the readmore on this post! i put a lot of effort into this and it took a lot of courage to post, so feedback is greatly appreciated!

"Mom! Guess what Ferb did!"

Phineas bursts into the kitchen energetically, still buzzing with adrenaline from the day's adventure. Ferb follows a step or two behind. Linda turns her attention from the freshly baked pie in her hands to her sons, although Phineas is too beside himself with excitement to consider whether or not she's paying attention. "He made a secret tunnel, and a spy headquarters, and a villain's lair, and a hover jet shaped like Perry- tell her, Ferb!"

Ferb doesn't match Phineas' enthusiasm. In fact, at the moment, he's sick to death of it. He prepares to launch into the explanation he's been trying all day to give. "Actually, I-"

"Wait a second," Linda interrupts, eyeing the boys with suspicion. "Why are you two soaking wet?"

The interruption is just too much for Ferb. He doesn't even process the question, just lets out a harsh shout of frustration. Phineas recoils - Ferb almost never shouts. "I give UP!" Ferb yells, his voice shaking on the last syllable, and before either of his surprised family members can respond, he turns around and storms off, his destination betrayed by the distinct clunking rhythm of stairs being stomped on too hard and the sound of a door slamming upstairs.

For a moment, the kitchen is silent. Linda recovers before Phineas does, her eyes narrowing in disapproval. "Young man, that is not how we talk to each other in this house!" she calls, setting the pie tin and her oven mitts down on the kitchen counter and following Ferb's path to his room. Before she can make it to the doorway, though, her progress is halted.

"Mom, wait!" Phineas pleads. He's finally caught onto what's been going on all day, and although he's still only half processed it, he knows he doesn't want Ferb to be in trouble for it. He frantically tugs on Linda's arm to draw her attention. Once he's sure that she's stopped, he withdraws his hand (he's still wet, after all, he doesn't want to make her uncomfortable), but sidesteps around her to put his tiny body firmly between her and the doorway to the living room. "Mom, please don't be mad at Ferb, it- it's not his fault! I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it, he's just..." Phineas' voice trails off briefly, but he forces it back into action, complete with the most serious expression he can manage. "If you're gonna be mad at either of us, it should be me, okay?"

At first, Linda returns Phineas' gaze with suspicion, then her face softens with realisation. She crouches down to her son's eye level, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Phineas, did something else happen today?" she asks, the anger gone from her voice.

Phineas hesitates, dropping eye contact again. He's almost certain about the cause of Ferb's outburst, and he can't help but mentally beat himself up for it to a degree. "Well, Ferb's been trying to tell me something all day, but he kept getting interrupted by our spy mission, and I guess it must have been really frustrating because he hates being interrupted but I didn't realise and-" he pauses to breathe, and shudders as he inhales as if on the verge of tears - "and I should have asked at some point but I just kept getting distracted and I didn't even realise how upset it was making him but-"

"Phineas," Linda says gently, and he gladly accepts the invitation to cut his rambling short. His breathing is shaky, but he doesn't cry just yet, even though his emotional state has nosedived in barely a minute. After giving him a moment to snap back into focus, Linda continues. "Phineas, honey, it sounds like this has just been a misunderstanding. On my end, too," she adds, regretting having snapped at Ferb earlier. Phineas nods with a nondescript mumble of agreement. Although he still obviously isn't looking, Linda gives him a reassuring smile anyway, accompanied by a gentle squeeze of his shoulder. "Thank you for telling the truth, sweetheart," she praises him.

"Mmh," Phineas mumbles, tugging at his shirt collar. He tends to fiddle with his shirt when he's nervous or overexcited. It doesn't hold a candle to bouncing his leg or flapping his hands, as far as stimming goes, but it's a lot easier to do while someone is touching you. "I just should've realised what was up earlier, then he probably wouldn't have freaked out..."

He finally glances up again, and the look his mom is giving him tells him that he should drop the argument, so he stops. Linda ruffles his hair affectionately, leaning forward to reach all the way behind Phineas' oddly-shaped head, and flinches at the unpleasant reminder of how waterlogged he still is. She stands up, flicking her hand dry. "I'm sure he knows you didn't mean to hurt his feelings," she reassures Phineas. "Why don't you dry yourself off and then go talk to him? Which reminds me," Linda motions towards the puddles tracked all over the kitchen floor, "why are you two so wet?"

"Oh, we fell in Isabella's pool," Phineas answers matter-of-factly. He isn't quite back to his usual blindingly sunny disposition, but the panicky tremble in his voice has at least disappeared.

Linda smiles, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Well, that I believe," she says. She'd tactfully decided not to comment on whatever that secret spy headquarters spiel was that Phineas had been getting worked up over, but she suspects his latest imaginary game took the boys to Isabella's backyard and ended up having some real-life consequences. "Oh, hi, Perry," she adds, as the platypus in question waddles into the kitchen.

Perry responds with his familiar chatter. Phineas leans down to pet Perry on the head. "At least you've had a stress-free day, huh," he says, then leaves for the bathroom. Perry stares at him blankly.

---

Ferb is having a meltdown.

He knows what this is, of course. He reads every textbook and blog post on the subject he can find, just in case it helps him make some more sense of himself. If he misses one, Phineas will no doubt have found and memorised it himself for the same reason, and will gladly rattle off anything new. Knowing why there's a raging storm beating at the inside of his head, however, is entirely different from quelling it. By the time he reaches his bedroom, he's trembling so violently that he can barely stand. He stumbles to his bed, pushing his hands down into the mattress to keep himself on his feet.

It's like feeling every feeling from every second of the day all in the same moment, and it hurts. So much is happening in his head that he can't even isolate a single thought, let alone process what it means. Is he angry? That'd make sense, sure, but his mental state isn't exactly conducive to deductive reasoning at the moment. Is he sad? Scared? Something else entirely?? He can't tell what emotion or mixture thereof it is, only that it's hurting his head, and he wants to get it out but he doesn't know how. He's struggling to breathe now, his arms shaking with the effort of keeping his body supported, and as he draws in a desperate shuddering breath Ferb feels something wet in his eye and then on his face, and he remembers that his entire body is wet and he hates it. It's cold, and his hair is sticking to his face and uncomfortably close to his eyes, and his clothes cling to his body oppressively and he wants to tear them off and stop feeling everything. Instead of doing that, he forces himself to breathe in again and looks around the room frantically, hoping to find something other than absolutely everything to concentrate on.

His eyes land on Phineas' bed, and although his vision is blurring as the panicky tears pour down his face, he recognises the shape instantly. Is he mad at Phineas? Should he be? He should be, right? If Phineas had just stopped to listen to him for once, he wouldn't be here with the world ending inside his brain. Another violent wave of emotion sends a shock through his whole body, and Ferb is still in no state to identify it, but he gets the message. He doesn't want to be angry. Not at Phineas. In fact, he doesn't want to feel anything he's feeling at the moment. Not the turbulent assault of everything inside his head, not the hammering rhythm of his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, not every tiny thing that touches his skin or the light from outside that still feels blinding through the curtains or the muffled sounds of conversation downstairs that he doesn't have room in his brain to translate into anything but more noise.

Sensory overload is another term Ferb knows, and it's another one that doesn't really help to know in the moment. The feeling of anxiety that's been growing in his chest since that morning finally becomes too much for his body to handle, and he collapses on his bed, weakly gripping the blanket for support. Burying his face in his covers blocks out most of the sunlight, at least, but it doesn't significantly improve his mood. He shivers, partly from cold thanks to still being uncomfortably wet, partly from the sobs making his whole body convulse. (When did those start? He doesn't remember.) He uses the last of his physical strength to pull himself fully onto his bed and curl into himself, trying desperately to calm himself down.

...

It's not working. Why isn't it working?? It's as if every effort to steady his breathing just makes him cry harder, every attempt at a calming thought being shattered into a thousand anxious ones by the merciless torrent of everything whirling around in his mind. Ferb is suddenly hyper-aware of how empty the room around him is, and it makes him feel helpless. It's the first feeling he's managed to connect a name to with absolute certainty this whole time, and it's terrifying.

If he was making any noise before in his attempts to control his breathing, he's stopped now. No sound escapes him as he lies in place, too preoccupied with the overwhelming barrage of thoughts in his brain to move. More than anything, Ferb wants his brain to just shut off. Everything in his mind blends into a horrible white noise that won't stop, threatening to drown him in static.

Through the raging mental cyclone, he just barely hears the knock at the door.

Phineas waits a moment before entering his room. He wants to make sure Ferb has time to process that he's here. A few seconds pass, then he opens the door slowly so that it doesn't make any sound. A stab of guilt hits him when he sees Ferb curled up on his bed, visibly distressed. He's facing the opposite wall, but the way he shudders as he breathes makes it obvious that he's crying. Phineas feels his heart sink. He'd really hoped it wouldn't be this bad.

"Hey," he says softly. Ferb grips himself tighter. Just a minute ago, Phineas would have been the last person he wanted to see, but now his desperation for comfort outweighs any lingering hints of animosity. He doesn't object to his brother's presence, so Phineas gently closes the door and walks over to his side of the room. He sits on the bed, watching Ferb to see if he reacts negatively to the shift in weight distribution, and tenses up slightly at how damp the blanket is. Of course, Ferb wouldn't have stopped to dry off on his way up here. A closer look confirms that while a lot of the water on his body has run off and soaked into his bed, Ferb is still almost as wet as he was when he arrived home. Phineas frowns - that can't be comfortable, and it's probably making him feel even worse. "Are you okay?" he asks.

Ferb curls into himself even more instead of asking. The question is so frustratingly rhetorical that he almost reconsiders the possibility of being angry, but the idea still scares him, so the feeling passes. Fortunately, Phineas understands the unspoken 'obviously not' with no further input, and continues to talk. "I'm really sorry about today," he begins. "I know you don't like being interrupted, and I should've realised that it was making you feel bad but I just wasn't paying enough attention and- and I'm sorry, because it's kinda my fault you got so upset," he apologises, not realising that he's holding back tears until he stops to breathe. He wills himself not to cry. He's here to try and make Ferb feel better, not guilt him into forgiveness.

It takes a second or two for Ferb to process what Phineas is saying. It's a struggle to drag the words through the confusing whirlwind of everything still rampaging through his head. Eventually, after a great deal of mental effort, he shakes his head in response. Perhaps he was angry before, he still can't tell, but he definitely isn't now. He can't manage anything beyond the simple gesture, but it's not the first time he's been utterly uncommunicative, so Phineas understands the meaning as well as he needs to: it's not your fault.

"Th-thanks," he stutters, although Ferb's acceptance does little to settle the crushing feeling of responsibility. "Next time you can speak I'll let you tell me whatever it is you needed to, okay? I promise." He smiles a little. "No more secret agent business to interrupt you."

The last sentence sure prompts a reaction from Ferb - he rolls over so that his face is entirely buried in the blanket and makes a frustrated noise without opening his mouth, his body shaking with some mixture of anger and physical strain. Phineas inhales sharply and recoils, no more prepared for an audible outburst from Ferb than the first time. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, already speed-testing possible answers in his head. "Did you not have fun today? Of- of course you didn't, that's why you're upset, but I thought you did a great job on the spy mission! It was really cool." He's trying to be reassuring, but Ferb just shakes harder, seemingly becoming more aggravated rather than less.

Phineas tilts his head in confusion. "Ferb? Ferb, it's okay, I-I'm sorry. Did... did it not go the way you planned?" he guesses, searching increasingly frantically for any change in Ferb's body language. "Hmm... oh, were you not finished building it yet?" He thinks back to Ferb's numerous attempts at speaking to him throughout the day, hoping that he'll find some clue that makes everything fall into place - and something clicks in his brain. He deflates a little at how painfully obvious the realisation seems in retrospect, with a soft "Oh." Sighing at his own ignorance, he directs his voice to Ferb again as he says, "You didn't actually build all that, did you?"

Ferb sits up slowly and turns to Phineas with his signature deadpan glare, the silent, biting sarcasm undermined significantly by the tears still falling from his eyes. Phineas hums concernedly. "Is that what you were trying to tell me?" he asks. Ferb gets partway through rolling his eyes before giving up and returning to the fetal position.

Phineas sighs sadly. He hates seeing his brother cry. There's nothing he wants to do more than pull him into the tightest hug he can manage, but he knows Ferb won't appreciate being touched in this state, so he opts to fiddle with his shirt again to keep his hands busy. "Who do you think did build that stuff?" he asks. Ferb doesn't care. On any other day, a secret spy lair being hidden under his house would be cause for immeasurable excitement, but after the day's events he's thoroughly sick of thinking about the subject. Phineas picks up on Ferb's antipathy towards the question and, sensing that it might be a sore topic for some time, decides not to bring it up again for a while. He'll satisfy his curiosity sometime when it doesn't come at the expense of Ferb's comfort.

An uncomfortable silence falls over the boys. It's broken when Ferb suddenly sniffles loud enough to make Phineas jump, sits up again, and halfheartedly tries to wipe the tears from his face. "Oh geez, hold on," Phineas says, leaning over to rummage through his short pockets. He eventually pulls out a wad of tissues, somehow unaffected by the earlier impromptu dive into Isabella's pool. He offers them with a gentle "here you go" to Ferb, who takes a few silently and scrubs at his eyes.

While he still doesn't feel good by any stretch of the definition, Ferb at least doesn't feel completely awful anymore. What was once a violent hurricane in his mind has receded enough that he can focus on the world around him without breaking down, at least for the time being, and he's left feeling just drained. He balls up his handful of tissues and tosses them at the bin under his desk. The ball makes it to Phineas' leg before unceremoniously bouncing to a stop. Phineas picks it up and throws it the rest of the way to the trash, standing up to do so.

Rather than sit down again, he kneels down and pulls out one of the drawers conveniently built into the bed. Ferb watches inquisitively, still too out of it to immediately catch onto what's happening. Phineas rummages a little before finally pulling out a pair of pyjamas, suggesting, "You should dry off and change your clothes." He pauses to think. "Can you make it downstairs to the bathroom by yourself?" he asks. At any other time, it would be a silly question, but Ferb is always exhausted after a meltdown. The visible effort it's taking him just to stay upright isn't lost on Phineas. Ferb ponders the question, then gives a tentative nod. He's definitely shaky, but he really wants to change into something dry.

"Great!" Phineas smiles encouragingly. "Should I bring the usual stuff to the living room? Your bed's probably not gonna feel comfortable until it dries out." Ferb glances down at the unmistakable damp silhouette of where he had been lying earlier and nods again, more confidently. He slowly gets to his feet, first pushing against his bed for support, then grasping the hand Phineas offers him. He lets go once he's certain he's regained his balance, and only then does Phineas hand him his pyjamas. "I'll come meet you downstairs, okay?" Phineas says. Then, pulling at the bottom of his shirt, which is still a bit soggy despite his best efforts to towel it off, he adds, "I should probably change into something dry as well."

---

Ferb rubs his eyes as he comes out of the bathroom, his drenched clothes swapped out for his much more comfortable pyjamas. He's stopped crying, it seems, but he's still feeling sensitive enough that the light from outside bothers him. He's relieved to discover that it's much darker in the living room - Phineas must have been here already. The curtains are drawn so that the lamp on the end table is the only light source in the room, softly illuminating its surroundings with a pleasant warm glow. He doesn't have the energy to analyse the entire room, even in these far more bearable conditions, but his attention is drawn to his favourite weighted blanket folded neatly on the couch. He sits down and drags the blanket over him, struggling a bit with the weight, but relaxing once he feels its reassuring pressure on his legs.

It's as he's settling into his position on the couch that Phineas enters with an "Oh, there you are, Ferb!". Perry is firmly but comfortably wedged under one of his arms, like a fuzzy teal football or loaf of bread, and seems altogether unbothered by his position. Ferb gasps quietly at the sight of Perry, his eyes brightening momentarily, and reaches out for him with various soft noises of urgency. Phineas wastes no time in setting Perry down next to Ferb, and the platypus reacts with a gentle, almost soothing chatter. Ferb instinctively mimicks the sound under his breath, and Perry responds with a nearly identical noise. Ferb echoes it again, slightly louder this time, and his face lights up with a weak smile, the first one he's managed all day.

Taking this as a sign of progress, Phineas sighs with relief as he sits on the sofa. He makes sure to maintain a respectful distance from Ferb, who's running a hand through Perry's fur as they echo the same low growling noise back at each other. (It pains Phineas not to join in, but he senses the two have gotten themselves into a groove that would be rude to interrupt.) Ferb's smile fades almost as soon as it appears, but he seems much more relaxed after the change in clothes and scenery. His hair is sticking up in every direction from being towelled dry, and Phineas stifles a laugh at how silly it looks. The back-and-forth chattering eventually dies down, and it's only then that Phineas continues. "Mom's gonna make you some tea, and she says if you aren't feeling better by dinner you can eat in here if you want," he says. Ferb turns to him and raises a thumbs-up briefly before returning his hand and focus to Perry.

Phineas quietly watches his brother for a moment before speaking again. "Do you want me to stay?" he asks. Exactly how sociable Ferb is while he's coming out of a meltdown varies. He almost invariably needs some time on his own to mentally reset, but sometimes it helps if someone he trusts is there to reassure him for a while first. In Phineas' experience, asking is always the best way to tell.

Ferb hesitates for a second, then surprises both of them with his answer, which is to turn and collapse into Phineas' lap with one arm hooked over his legs in a sort of pseudo-hug. Phineas tenses up, not sure how to react. He cautiously puts an arm around Ferb, in a comforting gesture that doesn't fully subject him to the overwhelming sensory experience of a true hug. Ferb doesn't fight it, just repositions himself so that he's lying down with Phineas as a makeshift pillow and sinks further into the gentle embrace. Phineas laughs softly. "Okay, I guess you do."

This is nice, Ferb thinks. Definitely an improvement over violently sobbing alone in his room. Perry must be feeling relaxed too, because he climbs onto Ferb's stomach, circles a few times, lets out one more chatter, then flops down and goes to sleep, purring gently. Phineas giggles at the platypus' behaviour, and Ferb's shoulders shake in silent laughter - his blanket absorbs enough of the sensation that it just tickles. Watching Perry doze off reminds him that he's still exhausted, despite the positive change in environment, and his attempt to stifle a yawn fails. He's still on high alert, and he knows he won't be sleeping for longer than a few minutes until the emotional clutter completely drains from his mind. With that said, both the blanket and Perry weighing down on him make for a pretty cosy combination, and he finds himself fighting to keep his eyes open. Maybe just a moment of rest will be good for him.

Before he knows it, his eyes are closed, and he's powerless to prevent himself from drifting off. Phineas accepts his new career as a pillow without comment, simply adjusting his right hand so that both his arms are positioned protectively around his brother. Being trapped in place for the time being doesn't worry him. Ferb won't mind being stirred awake when their mom arrives with his tea, and until then Phineas can easily occupy himself with thoughts of what to do tomorrow. Besides, he can subject himself to a few minutes of quiet if that's what Ferb needs. What kind of a brother would he be if he couldn't, right?

Ferb half-consciously brings a hand to Phineas' wrist, as if it'll float off if he isn't holding on. He can feel his brain shutting down, and he welcomes the change. The last thing he's aware of before his consciousness finally leaves him in peace for a moment is the sound of Phineas' voice, promising him, "You're gonna be okay."

[whumpeeblog]

TW: WHUMP, SLAVERY, TORTURE, VIOLENCE, BLOOD

Credit: this is not my original idea. Characters and writing is mine, but I was inspired by a prompt. I don’t remember the original author of the prompt but credit to them anyway.

The mangled figure mopped the floor with her tangled hair and silent tears. She scrubbed at the white tiles with what little might she had and the torn rag she had been provided with. Trembles and shivers racked her body whenever she heard the clanking of a pot, or chopping of a knife in the kitchen next to her. S’s master, K, prepared a meal for himself while his slave toiled away, attempting to turn herself invisible.

Although S attempted to avoid K’s burning gaze, she found it nearly impossible. K pounded towards the table, and set down a steaming plate, clanking it heavily on the wood to extract a startled flinch from his prisoner.

“Put the bucket in the closet,” K commanded.

With severe struggle, S clamored up from the floor, gripping the ledge of the island as leverage. Pain exploded throughout her muscles and skin with every move, but she knew better than to disobey. He could make it much worse than it already was. She limped to the utility closet behind the kitchen, and dumped the bucket, setting it down with the rag inside.

“Hurry up!” The accented voice crashed from the dining room.

Oh god I’ve upset him. He’s gonna hurt me.

S scurried messily to the dining room, then dropped to her knees with a wince and small groan. She had the drill memorized well. Keeping her eyes to the ground and kneeling to face her master, she patiently, yet painfully, waited for him to finish his meal. S was prepared to retrieve whatever he wanted at a moments notice, whether that be something as simple as a napkin, or his favorite jagged whip for his own gruesome amusement. The results of silent submission proved themselves less painful than defiance.

K unsheathed his dagger, then brandished it before slicing off a piece of easily tearable turkey breast.

“Open,” he demanded. He lowered the small piece to the child’s mouth, and she obeyed, starving for an ounce of nourishment. The tender meat landed on her tongue, guided by K’s rough hands. His gesture of kindness tasted of bittersweet sadism. S was given a bit more food and bread; not a lot, but it was better than starving.

K’s rough fingers suddenly twisted into S’s roots, and ripped her head back, exposing her throat. A gasp dropped from her lips, and she lowered her eyelids, so as not to look her master in the eye. Harsh punishments came with unwanted eye contact. Hyperventilation raked through her lungs. K had been brandishing the knife before, and S was fairly confident that he was about to use it on her throat.

A cold shiver erupted when a trickling stream of chilly water dripped into S’s mouth and down her throat, as well as outside of her mouth and onto her neck. K allowed her to gurgle the water until he felt she had had enough.

“Clear the table.”

K’s chair scratched against the tile as he rose. His fingers snapped and pointed to the half consumed plate of food on the table. He was aware exactly of what he was doing. He left the food as a test, as well as a form of torment, after giving his slave a small amount of what she could have.

S eyed the food hungrily, her starving insides reminding her with painful stabs of malnourishment. She knew better than to even try to sneak a bit of food in. He always saw. He always knew, and his eyes pierced through her with every cruel glare.

K sank into the couch, and grabbed a remote next to him. S mentally noted his hawklike gaze from the corner of his eye. Hoarse moans of pain whined from her throat as S limped back and forth across the kitchen floor. Her back stung dully from the deep scars of the many whippings and beating she had received in the past five years. Cuts and bruises painted a picture of torment on her canvas of skin, and the burning soles of her feet were still slightly raw from being whipped. Most recently, she had been severely tortured for her assistance in an important prisoner’s escape. K had finally decided to break her after the defiant stunt, and was succeeding. For five years she had been a deviant, rebellious slave to him and her previous masters, and no one had taken the time to break her into the slave she should be. K’s last torture session had lasted a month, and had bent the girl into submission to his demands.

S picked up the dishes and washed them, her stomach aching in anger as she scraped each full dish into the trash; a waste of good food. She soon finished washing and drying the last dish, then set it inside the white cupboard. Tears ignited with each step she took towards her master. She would learn to live with the painful wounds Keith had burdened her with, but each limp made her want to cry out in agony and beg for her death.

A sadistic smirk etched itself on K’s lips. His stormy eyes observed the girl hobbling towards him. At least her feet were beginning to heal and she wouldn’t get much, if any, blood on the carpet.

S kept her eyes low and knelt at K’s feet, prepared to stay in that position until he decided it was time to chain her in the dungeons for the night. Her broken soul cherished the last bit of freedom she would get before being dragged to the dingy cells beneath the massive fortress. K stared at the tv for a few moments.

“Look at me.”

S’s gaze rose to meet his. Fear bolted though her blood, and a shiver drowned her in terror when K’s line of vision struck her own. She trembled, unsure as to what her king would do to her now.

K patted the couch next to him.

“Come here,” his accent commanded her.

S hesitated. She wasn’t allowed to even lean on the furniture. She was a prisoner, after all. Her place was in the dirt with the rest of the wretches that served K. Her eyes darted left and right, searching his face for a sign of sarcasm. His features were serious however. He had given her a direct order, and she must obey. Either way, he would most likely punish her for rule breaking, so may as well follow the order. S attempted to rise, nearly toppling back into a mangled pile on the floor. K then stood, lifting her up by her arms. A soft blanket draped itself over her bare shoulders, covering her scars, fresh wounds, and branding marks. The child flinched when the fabric blanketed her body. The only touch she was accustomed to was pain.

Why is he doing this?

“Sit.”

S cautiously leaned against the edge of the white couch. K sat to her left, then pulled the chain on the lamp to his left, clothing the room in darkness.

“Come closer.”

The captive slid back against the couch, and skidded towards K. Terrified pupils stared into nothingness, and a brainless body leaned against its captor.

K slid his arm around S, a taunting act of false care and security. He turned on the television, flipping to a channel playing an unknown movie.

Intrigued thoughts clouded S’s mind. She didn’t know what to make off K’s sudden kindness. Then she realized that it wasn’t a kindness at all and that he was torturing her again. On the screen, a movie containing a man being tortured flickered.

The mans body was being ripped apart, by bit. The screams of the man were almost unbearable as the first method of torture was removing the mans fingernails. They were torn off, one by one.

The oxygen in S’s lungs caught in her throat, and she whimpered, unable to breath. K snickered.

“Do you know why you are watching this?” He questioned cruelly.

S shook her head in misery, tears splattering the couch beneath her.

“That’s what I’m gonna do to you.” K pointed to the screen, and S let out another soft groan of anguish.

Her breaths became rapid and hyperventilation began to take over her body. The shrieks of the man, who was now having his fingers slowly cut off, pierced through her skull, leaving her shivering. The little bit of food that K had blessed her with rose, and she swallowed it back, leaving a burning trail of fear in her throat. Pressure pounded her brain, and her thoughts became dark, foggy clouds. She couldn’t think or speak. Whimpers sounded from the trembling figure as she hid her face in her master’s chest. It was all she knew to do.

K shook the girls shoulders, chuckling under his breath.

“I want you to watch.”

The wails of the man on the screen stopped S’s brain and heart, and the room spun in a dizzy craze. Her eyes raised to watch the man being flayed and cut into pieces, blood soaking the wooden torture table he was chained to. The man flailed in utmost agony and torment.

K looked on without a second thought. The torture didn’t bother him. He had done the exact process to prisoners countless times.

“I’m gonna do that to you, but I’m gonna make it a thousand times worse,” K bragged, rubbing the sobbing figure’s bare, shredded back. Sensory overload. K’s gentle touches seared the wounds on her spine. The horrifying soundtrack from the screen froze her heart in pure dread. A putrid ache filled her stomach and rose into her throat as she watched the gory movie.

Although aware of the rules that forbid her from speaking without permission, her tongue could only roll off the words “Please.” The words were whispered under her wavering breath, and each intake of air wheezed in panic.

K broke out into laughter, then tethered S closer to his chest with his arms, securing her at his mercy. He wouldn’t force her to watch any longer. He allowed her to sob into his chest, soaking his white shirt. He wrapped the blanket tighter around her, covering her half naked body. His brawny arms shifted, and his hands sunk into her bloody, matted hair.

Was that pity he was feeling for her? He disdained the thought of himself being kind to her like he used to be. He had always been cruel to her, but there were a few times that he had allowed her to live freely in his home, and treated her like a human. The most recent was before she set one of his prisoners free. He had almost gained a friendly relationship with his captive, although she was openly intimidated by his presence. Over the past five years, she had seen his mercy and his wrath, and she feared what he could easily do to her.

A sorrow drenched him as S’s tears finally silenced and she fell into an unconscious state of sleep in his arms. He ran his fingers through her roots, not bothered in the least about the bloody trail she left on his fingers.

Pity is weakness.

Sandpaper fingers stretched down to wipe drying tears from a tormented face. S slept, whimpering and trembling with each breath she took. K only latched on to her tighter, then rose, carrying her bridal style to the cell where she spent most of her nights.

He wove through the underground tunnel and dungeon system to one of the torture chambers, which was where the executioner, A, resided.

The choice between throwing her in a cell or chaining her down to the torture table bounced around in his brain. She had seen enough kindness for one night. K laid S’s bare spine on the splintered wood. He tied her hands outstretched above each side of her head using rope, then transferred to her ankles. Several months back, she had been fitted with permanent shackles. These contained thorn like spikes on the inside of them that were driven into her ankle bones when secured. They couldn’t be removed by simple lock and key, and freeing her from them would prove painful. K latched a strand of chain to the shackles, securing her ankles to both sides of the table.

[mrs-hollandstan]

So harry has anxiety right? And one of the signs of anxiety is extreme irritability. So imagine one day you’re in a goofy mood and messing w harry a bit and he’s super irritated and snaps at you and calls you annoying and insults you? you get really upset and burst into tears in front of him and he feels so guilty and awful and he apologizes and cuddles you and tells you how much he loves you

I love this boi

[[MORE]]

He knew he shouldn't go home to you like that. He knew you were a dork and you'd try and cheer him up no matter what the situation. But he was on sensory overload and knew if he didn't come home he'd snap and kill someone. So when he slammed the door, he hoped it would keep you off him until he could calm down. And then you poked your head out, goofy smile on your face and he prayed it ended as well as he knew it wouldn't. 

"Harry bear!" You cheer,

"Not now Y/N." He warns but you're persistent, 

"Ahh that's not a good answer, come here, I want hugs." 

"Y/N, I'm serious, just go back to what you were doing and I'll be out in a little while." You trot up to ruffle his hair,

"You gonna go stroke one out then mate?" 

"Y/N," he yells, finally turning to you, "are you fucking deaf? Fuck off. If you're too daft to realize I need time alone then maybe I should've stayed the fuck out away from you and found someone that actually fucking listens to me. Jesus Christ." You're taken aback, staring at him with an agape mouth. You blink, closing your mouth to clear the lump in your throat, 

"I uhh," your voice is shaky and a single tear slides down your cheek, "I didn't… know it was that bad, sorry. I'll uhm…" You don't even finish your statement before you're turning and heading back towards the living room. Harry clenches his fists, immediately pissed with himself. Standing in the hall a little while longer, he sighs and heads to your bathroom, splashing cold water in his face and finding basketball shorts and a tee in your closet before he heads back down the hall, listening to you sniffle. He leans over the couch to see how much space is behind your figure before he slides over the back and behind you, wrapping his arms around you. After a moment of silence he speaks up, 

"You're not gonna tell me to get off of you?" He asks, 

"I might if I wasn't afraid of being called daft." You speak up softly. He sighs, 

"Babe… I'm sorry okay? I didn't mean what I said. I've just been on edge all day and I feel terrible knowing that I made you cry. You and I both know you deserve so much better." He says. You sniffle again, letting him hold you, 

"Its been a rough day and my anxiety has been through the roof and I fucking had that uhm… the sensory overload and I just wanted to be alone so I didn't snap at you but you're a dork and I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you this weekend, I promise." He says. He squeezes your wrist gently, kissing the back of your head. You stare up at the TV, letting his fingers trace up and down your hip. You turn your shoulder into his chest, glancing over your back at him. He smiles, 

"Forgive me darling?" After another moment you nod, turning into his arms and nuzzling your face in his neck, 

"All you have to do is tell me it's your anxiety and I'll leave you alone." He nods, wrapping his arms tighter around you, legs threading through your own, 

"Deal." Breathing in his scent, you close your eyes and he starts to stroke through your hair, surprisingly calming himself further. 

[one-abuse-survivor]

before i start, thank you so much for doing what you do;this blog has given me good advice countless times and i really have to thank you for that.

my issues with my parents are that they don't take me seriously. i can literally go up to them and say: "mom/dad, i think i might be autistic or have ADHD (both would be quite likely) can i get that checked out" and list a bunch of examples why i think that and they'll just be "nah, that can't be, you don't seem like that at all" as of i didn't break my mind over it researching it and talking to people who have it to see if we've had similar experiences just to get some kind of reference as to why i feel the way i feel and why i struggle so much with things that so many other people find so easy.

but then, in the following weeks and months (after talking w them) they just randomly point out things about me that kinda annoy them, like me talking out of turn a LOT or me not looking at people or me having trouble focusing if there isn't also music and a movie going at the same time or mom saying that i seem hyperactive to her because i'm always moving my legs or pacing around or rubbing my hands or drumming on the table with pens. things like that (plus a lot more) were the exact things i was telling them about and they just put it off like it's nothing but as soon as it affects and annoys them it's suddenly very real. at this point i'm struggling to talk to my parents about anything even remotely more serious than generic smalltalk and i'm having a hard time believing myself that my struggles are in fact real and i'm not just making them up.

and also on a less related note; the thing i hate most about my parents: if i'm wearing headphones and couldn't understand what a parent was yelling from somewhere else in the house then it's my fault. but if it's the exact same situation but i'm the one calling and they couldn't hear me, then it's obviously my fault too (i kinda get the first one but srsly how could i not wear headphones when they're constantly arguing with my brother in the room next to mine) (either way if one of the scenarios is clearly my fault, then the other shld be clearly their fault bc that's how logic works)

hhhh, this got quite long. i would love to hear your thoughts about this

a continuation from the other ask about my parents not taking me seriously even when i ask them for help with my hardest problems. that ask didn't really go in the direction i had planned but there is so much going on between my parents and me that i really need to talk to someone about

background: i'm around 15-16 rn and have a brother who's 18. primary school was academically very easy for me (lots and lots of great and even perfect grades) but my brother didn't have it as easy (lots and lots of mediocre and meh grades) so my parents really just kinda let me do my thing while they were constantly busy with my brother. so i got really independant and did all of my stuff on my own bc a) i always had done it that way and b) my parents were already busy and stressed. but after my brother got his first computer and got into video games his grades dropped and my parents started constantly arguing with him and taking away his computer and stuff like that so there was always a lot of tension (and i got to a point where i can't handle people yelling; that's what i was referring to with the headphone thingy at the end of the last ask) i don't know if i can go that far and say that my parents kinda neglected me and my emotional needs in favour of saving my brother grades but that's pretty much the way it feels.

i'm now a sophomore (school works a bit different here but i'm the equivalent of a highschool sophomore afaik, here it's just 10th grade) and starting from about mid 8th grade (end of 2018) i've been struggling a lot with self care and upkeep of my already minimal social circle and academic stuff (i'm at the academically highest level of school you could be at my age without skipping any years) and also mental health.

i got quite depressive and started isolating myself and casting away friends and my grades went down a lot, which really disappointed me because my great grades were kind of my trademark thing. but i didn't feel safe talking to my parents because of the huge distance that we built by me "never" needing their help with stuff.

in that time (almost a year ago, our anniversary is in twenty days or so) i got a girlfriend and i'm hella glad that i can talk to her about everything but i feel like i can't just go dump trauma and parent issues on her forever

about last november or so i was at a pretty low point and was suicidal and that's kind of when i snapped and went to my parents to talk so being cast away and having my issues invalidated really really hurt then and made me spiral even deeper and my gf was the only thing keeping me afloat.

i'm kind of a bit better now but i have rebuilt my view of my parents from "idk we never really interact" to "trying to interact or talk is not worth the energy" and needless to say i don't like them that much

oh and i forgot about all the times i got panic attacks and sensory overloads @ school because there are so many people there (1700 students + 200 teachers) and it's loud everywhere and of course asking my parents for what to do if suddenly everything is too bright and too loud and you can't move or talk because of it didn't get me anywhere (and since i didn't know what it was called or how to describe it properly, i didn't really find any Information online either

and just typing this makes me think of so many more things that they did that aren't okay things to do (a lot of gender identity stuff for example because i'm also neck-deep in that) . but writing this has also helped a lot right now. thank you for being there and listening.

and just in case i'm ever gonna pop back in to say something i'm gonna drop a name for easier identifying

sincerely - 🌌 milky way anon

Hi, nonnie! Thanks for the kind words, I'm really glad my blog has been of help ❤️

I'm sorry your parents are making it hard to believe your struggles are real :( you deserve to be taken seriously and to get access to all the help you might need. Just the fact your symptoms are there and you're noticing them and they're interfering with your daily life is enough to get them checked, regardless of if you need a diagnosis/meds/anything else. No one deserves to live wondering if their struggles are worth discussing with a doctor or professional.

And you're right: if one of those things was your fault, then the other should be theirs, logically. But I don't even think it's "your fault" you didn't hear them because you were wearing headphones, to be honest. I think it's just something that happens from time to time and that doesn't warrant getting mad over; I think it's the kind of thing that simply needs to be talked about so everyone in the household knows how to communicate with everyone else without getting frustrated. It's as easy as saying "hey, whenever I put on headphones I'll just text the family group chat to let you guys know I won't hear you. If you need anything in those moments, just text me instead". I do this with my girlfriend sometimes—if we're wearing headphones and we're in the same room, we simply pat each other when we need something and wait until the other takes off their headphones to talk. It really doesn't have to be an issue where anyone is to blame. You're allowed to take steps to feel safe and comfortable in your house without getting punished for it.

But, of course, this doesn't work if the people around you choose to prioritise "being right" and proving you're wrong over a peaceful and healthy cohabitation, which is what most toxic and abusive people do.

As for your second ask, I would say if it feels like your parents neglected you and your needs because they were always focusing on your brother, then it's okay to say that they did. The fact alone that those feelings are there makes you deserving of talking about it and wanting to heal from it; the cause of those feelings doesn't have to be something major, or sound deeply traumatising when you say it out loud, in order to "count". And people whose emotional needs were consistently met don't feel like they weren't.

I've already shared this video before, but if you want some resources on identifying and healing from emotional neglect, I really recommend watching it. Please bear in mind, though, that the video says it's important to not blame parents for emotionally neglecting you, but I don't think that's the message a lot of people need to hear and I think you should allow yourself to feel angry at your parents for not meeting your needs and causing you trauma. That's pretty much the only thing I'd criticise about the video.

I'm sorry to hear you've been struggling with your grades and mental health lately, nonnie. I had a quite similar experience when I was in high school—I used to always get great grades, but my mental health and trauma put a lot of strain on them (as well as on my social life; I lost a lot of friends in those years) and it was really distressing to see the only thing that made me "worthy" crumble between my fingers like that. I'm still trying to unlearn this idea that your grades define your worth, and it's been really hard.

I'm so sorry your parents weren't there for you when you hit that low 😔 I'm glad your girlfriend could help you stay afloat in that moment, but they absolutely should've been there for you all those times you reached out to them for help with your struggles, and the fact that they didn't is emotionally neglectful of them.

I'm glad you're in a better place now ❤️ I really hope you can find out all the information you need on gender identity and sensory overload and any other issues that might be affecting you. Know that you deserve for your parents to be there for you. You shouldn't have to face any of this on your own, or even with only the support of other people your age. You deserve for them to care. You deserve to have your symptoms checked out. You deserve adult guidance to find resources to help you better understand and manage your struggles.

Sending all my virtual support your way ❤️ and happy belated anniversary to you and your girlfriend!

[timextoxhajima]

HOSTIS, Chapter XVII: Et Universum Parallel, A Parallel Universe

Previous Chapter (XVI: Adsumo)

Member: Lee Hyunjae (tbz) ft eric

Genre (by chapter): drama, angst

Category: Short Novel/Long Series

A/N: *this is a sad hours warning send me an ask if you cried or smth idk bec i’m pretty i’m gonna cry writing this chapter :”)*

“where has my other ares gone?”

“morning!” 

the nurses and staff nearby look up at your greeting, and they say it back with such cheer and wonder in their voices, though you were sure they wished they were in bed.

the dress shirt that wasn’t yours was folded nicely into a plastic package in your briefcase, and you didn’t want it hanging around your house like a ghost reminding you that lee hyunjae was a person who had to deal with for the longest of times.

he was staring at his computer screen with his chin in his palm when you walked in without knocking, and you were expecting him to throw something at you, maybe even call you a name that would hurt your pride.

but he doesn’t.

“this shit is yours,” the plastic crinkles loudly when you pull it out. for a moment, your heart winces because you spent a considerable amount of time ironing it.

it was a dress shirt after all.

“take it back.”

the item was held out at arms length, and again, you wait for him to snap at you, to bring it over to him so you had an excuse to throw it instead.

but he doesn’t.

the look on his face was blank, emotionless, tired.

the chair creaks when he removes his butt off the leather and he slides the white coat off the backseat, turning on his heels to walk towards you.

his silhouette against the light coming in from the window behind his desk floods out his features, but he keeps a safe distance from you when he takes the wrapped dress shirt from you and places it on the small sofa seat right next to the door.

“thanks,” he says, with absolutely no weight of sincerity or energy. “i gotta go for my rounds so get out of my office.”

he brushes past you without physically running an arm into your shoulder, and he doesn’t wait for you to leave by holding the door open. 

he just walks off.

a parallel universe, also known as a parallel dimension, alternate universe, or alternate reality, is a hypothetical self-contained plane of existence, co-existing with one's own. 

and you were convinced that not only did you just wake up in one, you were now living in it.

someone must’ve kidnapped lee hyunjae and replaced him with someone else. 

every second ticks by relentlessly, and those seconds become hours, and hours become days.

it’s been days since hyunjae has said anything remotely mean to you.

it’s been days since hyunjae has had some kind of a conversation with you.

maybe it was his rounds. 

maybe he lost a patient to another doctor because of a worsening condition. 

the pantry door whirs open while you were filling your flask up with warm water, and the soft sound calls for your attention.

he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say anything to you, only walking past you to that refrigerator he had you up against not too long ago, stealing kisses when doctor kim walked in on the two of you.

now he was just treating you like you were invisible?

“you look like shit, just so you know,” your lips meet the mouth of the flask as you turn and lean your hip against the counter. 

“didn’t know i dressed to impress.”

a box of eclaires was removed from the refrigerator and he stuffs one into his mouth. 

what game is he playing now?

why was he so distant all of a sudden?

“busy with work? i haven’t heard your annoying ass much in the last... what, three days? or did you fuck up along the way and couldn’t bring yourself to show your face?”

not a muscle in his face twitched as he finishes the eclaire in his mouth, and he slides the box back into the refrigerator.

“you have your problems to handle, and i have mine.”

a frown crawls itself onto your forehead, and something in your heart cracks. 

where has my other ares gone to?

“but i suppose for old times’ sake i could send you home today, you seem like you miss me.”

that was more like it, but why does he sound so... sad?

“i’ll see you in the carpark after work tonight.”

not once do his eyes look at yours when he speaks, and he leaves without another word.

you should have known it better; you should’ve known yourself better, but you don’t. 

what was this difficulty you were finding in your lungs that was preventing you from breathing? what was this feeling of dissatisfaction in your gut when he doesn’t bother to rebut you?

you were so used to listening to him cutting you open with his words after you start a fight with him, so much that now when he doesn’t, it feels like he’s playing you. it feels like you’re just talking to a wall. 

it feels like he’s done entertaining you.

it should’ve felt better. you should’ve felt happier that the fight or war you’ve been fighting for a decade is seemingly coming to an end. 

but you don’t.

was he simply becoming the more professional one at work? did he finally realise that it wasn’t worth it for him to consistently try to break you? was he the first of the two of you to decide that this fight has gone on way too long, and that it was time to stop?

no.

he’s not that quick to resign. 

not to me.

how much does god hate you to put you into the same space as him again, even after ten years, for you to realise that you missed it?

no, it can’t be.

i just missed the free ride home, that’s all.

the lamps along the road paint the asphalt ground a bright amber, but the heavy weight in your chest refuses to remove itself. 

like a tumor nestling itself into your heart, you worry if your knowledge of neurology was enough to fix whatever was wrong with you, provided you could even figure it out first.

again, the silence buries itself in the back of your skull like a piece of metal, like you had split your skull open and you needed it as an implant to help you recover. 

you were drowning in the lack of exchange, the absence of physical touch, the loss of rivalry. 

there was absolutely no reason for you to be so destroyed when everything you hated had finally stopped.

really, grinded to an abrupt stop. 

the vehicle pulls up to your house and he clicks the gears into parking, both arms tightly gripping onto the steering wheel with his eyes looking dead ahead. 

the gentle whirring of the air conditioner in the car was the only thing you could hear besides his heavy breathing, or yours, you couldn’t really tell anymore.

you hesitate for a moment, watching the lines on his forearms come alive again. any other day and you would’ve felt like he was trying to rile you up, but there was something wrong with his energy tonight, you just couldn’t put a pin on it. 

“are you okay?”

the words come out so soft, like a whisper goodnight, like lovers afraid to say goodbye, and you struggle to recognise your own tone, your own choice of words, the very fact that you even bothered to ask him that.

but he turns to you without removing his grip from the steering wheel, and the way he digs into your eyes nearly made you want to throw up.

not from hatred, not from resentment, but because that tumor in your heart responded to his gaze.

the moment freezes, leaves rustling outside your open window, an occasional dog barking in the distance; nothing but him looking at you like you were a statue and you searching his face for any sign that you could decode.

nothing.

he turns away.

“why wouldn’t i be? anyway, we’re here now, so get out already.”

a bodily reflex sends a scoff up your throat as you pull your head away, one hand already on the door handle. 

yet a warm mass lands on your arm to hold you back and some part of you disintegrates into his lips when he kisses you for the first time in almost a week. 

his grip on your arm loosens before he pulls away, and strange, unfamiliar chills down your back, shiny, glimmering eyes looking into yours with just inches between your faces. 

he turns back to the steering wheel and looks ahead, his still manner telling you that he was just waiting for you to get out of the car.

so you do just that.

but why does it feel like you were walking away from him, when you were just going home?

he says something so softly as you shut the door, and you forget about it, thinking that if it was important, he’d text you about it anyway or find some way to get his message across if he really didn’t want to face you anymore. 

but why doesn’t he?

you were sure he said something, but he doesn’t bother yelling at you for closing the door in his face when he said it. 

the car drives off and you notice the moon for the first time in a long time. 

you’ve spent so much time looking down at your feet, making sure that you don’t trip over his shoes, that you’ve completely forgotten that the moon existed. 

you’ve spent so much time trying to be wary of pride and love, that you’ve lost control of what either meant. 

the car disappears in the reflection off the window of your backyard as you walk up the stairs to your front door, the grave feeling of loss and confusion starting to engulf you the same way you were worried your parents were going to choose their careers over their own child.

but that was because you were scared they would love their profession over you.

what were you scared of when it comes to lee hyunjae?

the moon hung outside your backyard glass panes like a round, yellow ball in the sky, the dark hallway that led you into the living room pushes you back into some situational memory. 

his hand around your throat, pushed up against the wall, and you were nothing less than happy about removing his report. 

“son of a gun deserved it anyway,” you hum under your breath, throwing your keys into a small container sitting on top of the shoe rack. 

the air in your apartment was eerily still, the switch clicking when you pushed it down with the lightest of efforts. every little sound, every little move, felt so overwhelming for some strange reason.

sensory overload was the correct term.

you would’ve covered your ears to cancel out your thoughts but it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway.

not when you couldn’t even decipher what was going on in your head.

the device in your back pocket rings, and you watch the screen light up when you grip it in your hand.

unknown number: y/n! it’s eric!

unknown number: i just wanted to see if you were available tomorrow night for dinner?

unknown number: and also to make sure that this is your number 

eric?

pleasant surprise, but your heart no longer does a little jump like it would’ve done four weeks ago. 

you: omg eric

you: how did you get my number?

eric: you didn’t hear this from me

eric: but i managed to hack into the hospital database and dug out your number

you: hack into the database? should i be worried that an intern can hack into the system?

eric: oh, god no. i didn’t hack, i just didn’t realise my account could get me into the database. i tried, and got in.

you: an intern account gets you into the system? strange...

eric: anyway, are you available tomorrow for dinner?

you: yeah, i’m clear

eric: alright, cool. i’ll totally head over to the nrd to get you at 6pm

you: where are we going?

eric: you’ll see tomorrow ;)

you: mysterious, aren’t we?

eric: you’ll see tomorrow, i’m sure you’ll love it. 

you lock your phone and leave it on the kitchen island, the cold, hard surface not a stranger to your back and your skin where it shouldn’t have been in the first place.

the thought shoves itself around in your mind, the stubbornness of such an intangible object so difficult to remove, you wonder if it was ever going to go away on its own.

the night sinks into your blood as the moon hung itself to bare. you try to recall the last time you looked at the moon without thinking about anybody, and it hurt to feel like you should’ve been with someone else under this gorgeous moonlight. 

the familiar corpse that displayed itself across the sky comes round again, and it soon gets hidden behind all the windows of the building.

sanitizer and disinfectant’s become your own scent, the only thing that greets you when you push into the office.

there was nobody next door, but you could tell he was already in because his briefcase was sitting on the floor by his table.

again, you don’t even see his shadow today. 

eric sends you little text every now end then to encourage you on your rounds. you found it a little redundant because there was nothing much to “encourage”, nonetheless, you felt motivated. 

the corpse was staring at you in large, red, digital numbers every time you were at a lift. 

faces that brushed past either earned a polite smile from you or zoned-out eyes.

the research department greets you like a home you didn’t want to return to, the only thing there that yearned for your attention was eric. 

“are you excited for tonight?” eric’s bright, child-like eyes were flitting gorgeously across the span of your face, and for a moment you feel like you were his most important person.

“can’t i know where we’re going?” you pout and notice hyunjae coming out the lift with a file of research material, and he walks to another research officer nearby to ask something.

“no, of course not!” eric rolls his eyes and squints at you. “unless you don’t eat beef.”

hyunjae nods and has the file opened out in his palm, his pupils flying across the page as he flips it. 

“uh... no, i’m not...”

hyunjae struts past your row, attention still mounted to the file while he walks to his cubicle behind you. 

“not what?”

he sees you for a moment. 

but he drops the file on his table and sits down, the clacking on the keyboard sounding like a nightmare from not long ago.

“i... don’t don’t eat beef.”

“oh, that’s a relief.”

“you do realise that question literally tells me we’re having steak or something tonight, right?”

the intern blinks at you innocently before nodding his head, and you give him a light punch to his shoulder, light chuckles run through your throat in soft vibrations.

eric talks to you about steak back home in LA, but you don’t really absorb anything. he sounds like you when you were begging for your parents’ attention; talking about unimportant things.

were your parents like this too?

the lift dings and a familiar faces comes out between the metal doors. he looks tired, less spirited, but somehow more at ease. 

“lee,” he calls out, and you hear the clacking on the keyboard halt. “come with me on my rounds in fifteen, i’d like to introduce one of my patients to you. he just came out of an operation and i’ll be transferring it to you.”

doctor choi reaches hyunjae’s cubicle and the younger male stands up, his jawline suddenly looking extremely glaring to you. 

“okay, i’ll go back to my office to get my patient files.”

they continue the conversation, and eric continues his. 

later that day, the pantry door greets you like the gates to hell, and you see hyunjae standing inside, mug in hand, back against the door as he looks out the window.

why am i here?

the door whirs open when you find yourself pressing your staff ID to the scanner and you grab some tea sachets. 

“you look stressed, messed up a report or two?”

silence.

confusion tightens your facial muscles, and you struggle to find something to do with the tea sachets.

he doesn’t move, he doesn’t say anything, only the slight heave of his shoulders when he breathes.

“am i talking to a ghost now? or did you finally realise that you were just fighting a losing war?”

again, nothing.

hyunjae gives his mug a rinse in the sink next to you, his warmth almost within reach. he avoids your eyes, avoids looking at you altogether, and he leaves.

you wanted to yell at him for ignoring you, but it was a hospital, and you are a professional. 

the sky starts to cry for you, for your confusion, for your lack of grasp on the situation. 

it really feels like you were a lost child in a maze, and you were nowhere near figuring the way out.

droplets of rain were trailing after each other on the window of your office, the orange sun completely disappearing behind those dark, dark clouds despite the rain having stopped.

each drop hits another and it runs down the glass. 

knock knock

“come in,” you call out without looking over your shoulder.

“hey! you ready to go?” 

the greeting earns your attention and you watch eric holding onto his bag like a child. the sight puts a smile on your face and the rain on the window pane bids goodbye to you as you walk over, fingers coming round the handles of your briefcase.

eric holds out a hand for you, like he was asking you to dance.

your spirit ascends a little at the contact, and eric’s grin was so gorgeous.

his warmth was gentle, comforting; it does feel like you were holding a child’s hand.

“are you interested on eating anything else? since you already know we’re going to a steakhouse,” the reflection of the two of you was staring back at you, your hand in his and he was just about a head taller than you. 

if you were with someone else, you’d need to tilt your head higher to even meet his eyes.

“mm... how about--”

ding

the light from the lift pours out around the person inside, and the look on his face crushes your spirit in ways you couldn’t understand.

“hyung!”

hyunjae’s left eye brow twitches, but nothing else moves. 

his legs tear him away from the lift and the wind that brushes across your face when he walks past you offers his scent. 

the only scent that took you away from sanitisers and disinfectant.

why was the day so draining when you barely did anything?

you didn’t go out of your way to do anything big or tiring.

the private room of the restaurant was providing you a gorgeous view of the city outside, and the food was nothing less than great.

yet for some reason, you don’t feel whole.

eric spends most of the dinner talking about his life in LA, why he came back, how he became a neuro-research intern... his life in LA, why he came back, how he became an intern... his life in LA, why he came back and how he became and intern.

my life here, why i’m here with eric, and how i became one half of two areses.

i am half full, but i feel half empty.

half. fifty percent. 

my aphrodite is sitting right infront of me, but why do i feel like i need ares more?

i am ares, so why am i not enough?

if i am brutal, then he is cruel. 

and ares is both.

ares is nothing without the two.

the scent appears in your nose against your will, and the warmth on your thighs melt through your skin into your bones. the taste on your tongue pushes you into a loss of control, and your press your peach tinted lips against each other. your fingers brush your neck where foundation was no more because you didn’t need it. 

half of two is not whole.

i am not whole.

not without him. 

“eric--”

“and i was just so psyched to--”

“eric.”

he stops, the brightness in his face doesn’t fade but his hands start to droop when he notices your eyes staring into the table cloth like you had just seen a dinosaur on it. 

“...are you okay?”

your heart is shaking in your chest like it was having an earthquake, and the nerves in your head start to spark like they were malfunctioning gears.

“i... i need to go.” the briefcase gets wrapped in your hold again, and you pull out a credit card to hand to him. “pay for it with my card and i’ll get it back from you tomorrow--”

“wait, y/n, where are you going?” he stands up, and you realise you were already turning on your heels. 

your body was reacting to your feelings faster than you could process them. comprehending that on its own was enough to uneven your breathing, much less keep your composure in front of him.

where am i going?

the silence was deafening, and you see that split second that eric’s eyes softens into something more mature, something more understanding.

like he knew.

“are you going to look for hyunjae hyung?”

there was a throbbing inside you, but you couldn’t tell if it was from your head or from your chest anymore. eric eyes bury themselves into your soul, and you realise that he was never your aphrodite. 

aphrodite was never yours to begin with.

you were half of two for a reason.

eric crosses the space between you and pulls you into a tight hug. a gulp forces itself down your throat when your chest huffs itself against his.

he pulls away and steps back, giving you a small punch to your shoulder.

“i’ll see you at the office tomorrow, and i’ll pay for the dinner. we’re still friends, right?”

your card gets extended out to you, your teeth grinding against each other in your mouth as you take it from him.

“of course.”

eric nods with satisfaction, sending you off on your way.

“y/n.”

the handle of the door was cold, and you turn to see that you were leaving aphrodite alone in the room.

“your number? i didn’t get it from the system.”

a pause, like he was trying to read your face. 

“he gave it to me.”

how much does god have to hate you for you to spend ten years fighting a war, only to have you wish you weren’t...

because you were in love with the person you’ve been fighting?

the whitening knuckles on your fist urges you to release your hands, the cab coming up around the corner. 

the living room light was dimly lit, so maybe the only thing that was illuminating the house was the kitchen light.

you pay for the cab and your shoes get damp from stepping into a puddle on the pavement.

water dripping from trees and plants into puddles ring like bells in nature, the gravel crumbling behind you as the cab drives off.

the skin on your fingers come into contact of the wooden door, and you stop yourself, wondering if this was right.

your pride. your ego. your desire to win.

what was it worth if you no longer knew was love was?

love was younghoon carrying your bag when he knew he didn’t want to.

love was eric trying his very best to find some way to contact you, sending you texts to encourage you. 

love was him leaving you alone after he realised this was no longer a war fuelled by hatred. 

the sound that emitted from the contact shivers through your fist as you knocked on the door.

i need my other ares, for we are not whole without one another. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 17.5: Inevitibilis

A/N: WHOOO LONG CHAPTER BUT ARE YOU GUYS ALRIGHT HAHAH

[thecatduet422]

Chapter Four: Have You Heard of the Waynes?

Fandoms: Batman (Arkhamverse), Jessica Jones (TV)

Pairing: Jessica Jones/Jason Todd

Rating: Mature (for language, depictions of violence, and adult themes)

Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Crossover, Alternate Universe- Canon Divergence, PTSD, Shared Trauma, No Beta

Summary: After escaping Kilgrave, Jessica moves to Gotham and starts her new life as a PI, even starting her own agency- Alias Investigations.

Yeah, criminals keep trying to hire her, and some bat-fetished vigilante keeps sending his kid over to "check-in" on her, but for the most part, Jessica's life is pretty stable.

Until some guy in a hood wants her to follow Bruce Wayne.

Chapters: 8/? (42,524 words)

One Two Three Five

AO3 LINK

Chapter Four: Have You Heard of the Waynes? (4.4k words)

She woke up with the feeling of her brain banging against her skull. The well familiar sign of a hangover growing the more she gained consciousness.

Fuck, what time was it?

Bang. Bang. Bang.

She groaned as some asshole hammered away at her door, her head following the tempo in agony. Why did she always have to wake up to so much noise?

She squinted her eyes open, only to be hit with the light beaming into her room. She quickly closed her eyes again, but it was too late, sensory overload amplifying her headache.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Jesus Christ, who was at her door? A fucking army?

BANG! BANG! BANG!

She was going to kill somebody.

"All right already! I'm coming!" she barked, her voice cracked and dry. A small burp of whiskey hit her mouth, begging her to wash it down with something. Anything.

Ignoring it, she rolled out of bed, squinting her eyes open again. She fumbled around for her pants.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG-

Finally, she found them and rushed to put them on, heading to the door.

“I SAID I’M COMING!” she screamed, only to immediately stub her toe fumbling down the hall.

“Ah fuck,” she mumbled, slightly hopping from the pain.

BANGBANGBANGBANG-

The glass cutout on her door rattled so violently, it was a miracle it didn’t shatter. The faint smell of smoke hit her senses.

Was there a fire?!

She swung the door open, panicked.

“What?!” she snapped.

Two bulking figures crowded her hallway, their shoulders so large they brushed up against the walls. Open trench coats draped over their forms, along with matching fedoras (which, if that didn’t scream criminal, Jessica didn’t know what did).

“Well, well, well…” a deep voice rasped out. “Look who finally decided to grace us wit ‘er presence…”

For a moment, Jessica was so distracted, she didn’t realize they weren’t the ones talking. She squinted at them confusingly.

A cough hacked from somewhere below.

Jessica looked down, her eyes first catching onto the trail of smoke. She followed it, and found herself coming face-to-face with none other than Oswald Cobblepot.

Or, at least she assumed it was him, having never met the guy.

But his body was short and round, with a big pot belly taking up his entire torso. A black, pin-striped suit stretched over it, the gaps between the buttons revealing a white dress shirt underneath. His shoulders were completely hunched, making his neck nonexistent. An egghead glued to his body, glistening with sweat, matching the small patches of hair that was tapered down with hair gel. A cracked monocle covered his left eye, almost distracting her from the large, crooked nose in the center of the face.

He literally looked like a penguin.

The Penguin. How creative.

Cobblepot raised up his hand to reveal a burning cigar, the source of the smoke attacking her nostrils. The smell made her want to hurl.

“What do you want?” Jessica barked.

“Aw, is tha’ any way to treat yo’ guests?” mocked Cobblepot. He took a drag and blew the smoke in her direction.

Jessica's stomach churned in disgust. If this asshole made her throw up, she was gonna aim it right at him.

“When they’re about to break my door? Yeah,” Jessica replied, head still pounding. She needed something to drink. Now.

Cobblepot chuckled. “Apologies fo’ the disruption, Miss Jones, but I believe we ‘ave some business to discuss.”

“Like hell we do!” she snapped. “I told your lackeys no to the deal you offered.”

“‘And because I’m such a generous man, I forgave yo’ idiotic decision,” Cobblepot took another puff, “Buh’ you bustin’ up my boys, I can’ let go.”

Simultaneously, the two thugs took off their hats, revealing dark bruises patched across their skin.

Oh, goddammit. The two dickwads from the bar.

“You didn’ think I’d let tha’ slide, did’cha?” Cobblepot sneered up at her.

Jessica sighed heavily. It was too early to deal with this shit.

“It was a bar fight,” she tried to explain. “They were being assholes.”

“Maybe so.” Cobblepot tapped his cigar, dropping ash onto the floor. “Buh’ an insul’ on them, is an insul’ on me.”

He then brought his other hand forward, revealing a black umbrella. “I think we should take this inside, yea’?” He tapped intimidatingly on the handle.

Shit.

Jessica’s heard about his umbrella fetish, how he pimps them into weapons. And judging how the two rocks in the back were wearing coats in August, they were packing too. She was stuck in a corner. Jessica was strong, sure, but she wasn’t bulletproof. She had to play along.

Jessica begrudgingly stepped aside, holding the door for them.

“Please, make yourself at home,” she drawled sarcastically.

As they made their way through, she spotted Malcolm peeping out from his door, his eyes glazed with concern. Jessica shrugged, trying to act unbothered before closing the door. The last thing she needed was Malcolm getting mixed up in this.

Cobblepot waltzed through her office, using his umbrella as a cane before getting comfy in her guest chair. The two thugs wandered aimlessly around the room, checking her place out. She knew they wouldn’t find anything, but it still put her on edge. The familiar shake of anxiety tangled up her back, plus the throbbing in her temples refusing to go away...

“I need a drink,” Jessica decided, moving to grab her bottle of Jack on her desk. She poured some into her glass from last night before waving the bottle to Cobblepot.

Oswald laughed, a hacked, choking sound. Jessica could practically hear the cancer gathering in his respiratory system.

“Spirits a’ ten o’clock in the mornin’?” he wheezed. “I li’e the way you think.”

He nodded, and Jessica went to pour him a cup, trying desperately to keep cool while thinking, what the hell should she do?

When Jessica handed the cup to Cobblepot, he threw his cigar down, stomping it out with the end of his umbrella.

Asshole.

Anger pierced through her, but she couldn’t do anything about it. Not now, not when all of them were armed.

Jessica plopped down in her seat and took a swig of her drink. The familiar burn took the edge off, her hangover fading, just slightly. She then polished it off, asking, “So, what does ol’ Oswald want now?”

“I’ve been mo’ than patient wit’ you, Jones,” said Cobblepot, taking a sip of his own drink, the umbrella resting in his other hand. “My previous offer fo' yo’ investigative talents was mo’ than generous. Insultingly, you turned all of ‘em down.”

Jessica shrugged, keeping a side view of the thugs inspecting her couch. “Nothing personal. I just don’t work for criminals.”

“Oh, I wouldn’ call meself a criminal,” Oswald said, before taking another sip, “Just a businessman.”

“A businessman who's been in jail,” said Jessica.

“Aw, come on now.” Cobblepot leaned forward, resting his glass on her desk. “Don’ tell me yo’ squeaky clean either, Jones. Everyone in Gotham’s go’ dirt on their ‘ands.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Jessica saw one of the thugs pocket a quarter from her cushion.

“Hey, stickyfingers!” she called out to him, “Don’t think I didn’t see that.”

“Jessica Jones,” Cobblepot snapped. "Quit playin’ games wit’ me. The way I see it, the only reason you turned down me offer is ‘cause...” he raised his head slightly, the monocle glinting against the light, “Yo’ already workin’ fo' someone.”

Her mind flashed to a guy with a hood, a scar on his face. Does Cobblepot know about him?

Oswald took her silence as confirmation.

“Who’s go' you in their pocket?” he sneered. “Is it Dent? The Riddler? Batman?”

Jessica snorted. “You’re out of your mind, bird brain.”

“Regardless,” Cobblepot leaned back, “you owe me. A thousand bucks.”

"Excuse me?!" she cried in shock. "A thousand dollars?! For what," she nodded towards the goons, “damaging their self-esteem?”

"My boys, my property," Oswald replied.

Jessica scoffed. She wondered what Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Idiot thought of that. Jessica glanced over at them, but they acted aloof, twiddling their thumbs and being bored. Guess working for one of the most infamous criminals in Gotham takes a toll.

Jessica gestured to her apartment. "Look at this dump. Do you think I can afford to dish out a thousand bucks?"

"Guess yo’ gonna 'ave to pay in a different way," Cobblepot said, an evil glint in his monocle. "Lucky fo' you, I already 'ave a job in mind."

He let out a dark, suggestive chuckle.

Jessica...

She gulped down the whiskey aftertaste in her mouth, already missing the burn that washed everything away. This was ridiculous. Fights broke out all the time at Rick's, and no one owed anyone shit. Crime bosses had better things to do than worry about their henchmen's petty squabbles. They didn’t even care if their goons lived or died.

And then it clicked.

"This isn't about the fight," Jessica concluded. "This is about me refusing to work for you."

Cobblepot didn't respond, just smirked, one that grew into a smile, exposing his yellow-stained teeth.

Jessica sighed. “And if I pass?”

Cobblepot leaned forward, as intimidatingly as he could without falling out of the chair. Jessica already knew what he was going to say, but still- it’s always good to get confirmation.

“Come now, Jones. Yo’ a smart bird,” said Cobblepot. “We know where you live, and even if you leave Gotham, I go’ plenty of business in Blüdhaven.” He tilted his head slightly before quietly saying, “We wouldn’ want Patsy to gi’ involved, hm?”

Jessica felt her jaw clench.

Fuck! How could she be so stupid? Someone like Cobblepot never took ‘no’ for an answer. If he wanted Jessica, he’d find a way to get her. Asshole knew she was broke. She’d have no choice but to work for him, pay off her debt. He's probably been waiting for her to slip-up like this.

She swallowed down her fear. “I’ll get you your money.”

“Oh, really?” Cobblepot hacked. “And ‘ow are you gonna do tha’?”

“Do you care?” she snarked back.

That, apparently, wasn’t the right response. Cobblepot's face scrunched up in a hideous manner, scowling at her with murderous intent. “You ‘ave until midnight to drop my money off a’ the Iceberg Lounge,” he hopped off from the chair, the henchmen quickly standing up to follow, “or we’re gonna pay dear Patsy a visit tha’ she’ll nevah forget.”

Wow. What a line.

But Jessica kept her mouth shut as they walked away. They slammed the door on the way out, causing the glass to shake again. She waited, until the taps of Penguin’s umbrella echoed away.

She groaned in frustration, her hangover suddenly tripling after Cobblepot was gone.

Goddammit. What was she going to do? She didn’t have the money.

Jessica rubbed the ends of her palms into her eyes, willing it all to go away, but of course, it wouldn’t. She needed to come up with a plan.

She couldn’t move again. That was out of the question.

She couldn’t call Trish, not after ghosting her for so long. Though, maybe she should with Cobblepot involved. Jessica could warn her, ask for the money…

Before she knew it, she had her phone in hand, grasping it tightly, as if it would disappear. Her lifeline. All she had to do was press on Trish’s name. Jessica knew she would pick up in an instant. She always did.

The image of Trish, bailing her out with concern in her eyes, asking her what’s wrong, asking how she could help, asking her to open up, knowing Jessica couldn’t, that she can’t.

No, she wasn’t ready. Jessica let go of the phone and flipped it over, refusing to let herself even look at the screen again. Jessica knew if she did, she’d give in.

She couldn’t call Trish. She’d just want to get more involved, and Jessica would be damned if she let that happen. She'll find another way to get the money, though the ‘hows’ were limited.

The money Jason offered would be more than enough, but he wasn’t due back for another week, and he left no way for her to contact him.

That left Hogarth. Jessica will have to ask her for a job, a big one, and she'd ask for the money immediately. A process Hogarth didn’t do. Jessica would have to convince her. She’d have to owe Jeri a favor.

She winced at the idea. Hogarth would go for it, for sure, but she’d make sure Jessica would suffer for it.

She glanced back at the phone.

Bite the bullet, a small voice said. Not his, her own.

Call Trish.

She sighed, bouncing back and forth between the two, all while the pounding in her head made her feel so tired, so done. Then, Jessica grabbed her jacket and sunglasses, knowing they’d be her saving grace against the daylight. Jessica shoved her phone in her pocket, and stomped her way out of the apartment, making the long journey to Hogarth’s office.

She hated going through Grand Avenue, having to wave through all the people. At least in East End everyone gave you distance. Sure, it was done out of skepticism (you never know when someone was gonna jump you) but Jessica appreciated it nonetheless. But on Miagani Island, people didn’t care- too busy trying to make money to worry where they’re walking.

A business prick yapping on the phone ran into her and didn’t even flinch. They spilled their coffee all over her jacket. Jessica couldn’t even tell them off before a fresh crowd circled around her.

Needless to say, she was not having a good day.

She passed by Wayne Enterprises on her way to Hogarth’s firm, polished and gleaming in the light like it was Gotham’s sun. Hell, to these rich fucks it probably was. The entire building had an aura of money and luxury. It made Jessica's skin crawl, her stomach squeeze.

It didn't help that she saw Armani everywhere.

Keeping her eyes forward, Jessica ignored the building and kept walking. She wanted to make this quick so she could get to work, get the money- maybe get a hot dog- and hit the bar before having to drag her sorry ass to the Iceberg Lounge where she would hopefully, not die.

Finally, Jessica reached Hogarth’s building, pulling the glass door open and walking through in stride. While waiting for an elevator with a bunch of suits, she spotted a TV from the corner of her eye. Jack Ryder's stupid face covered the screen, going on and on about some conspiracy theory.

Great, she thought. Just what Gotham needed. More drama.

The elevator slid open and she packed her way in, ending up in the very back.

"Hey," Jessica called over to the front. "Can you press forty?"

Everyone looked at her.

She couldn’t really blame them. Jessica totally looked out of place here with her (now coffee stained) leather jacket and motorcycle boots. The jeans she wore hadn't been washed in who-knew-how-long, and she didn’t even bother brushing her hair. Or teeth.

Damn, she was a mess.

"Uh, excuse me," one of the suits said. "I'm sorry, but did you just say the fortieth floor?"

He scanned her face, disgust clearly written all over him.

A slimy grin, going on about how her clothes were hideous...

She suddenly felt the urge to punch something. To punch him.

"Yeah, I did," Jessica snapped. "Why? Did you forget how to count?"

The man, taken aback by her response, smartly kept his mouth shut.

Good. Skeevy prick.

The rest of the ride was silent as the elevator made its way up. When it hit the fortieth floor, she shuffled her way through.

Crisp, cool air provided by top-notch air conditioning blew across her face, and Jessica breathed in as much as she could, knowing she’ll need to be somewhat pleasant for Hogarth.

Feeling as ready as she’ll ever be, Jessica began to walk across the lobby, passing by the receptionist's desk.

"Is Hogarth in?" she asked, not breaking her pace.

"Oh, Jessica!” Pam cried. “Do you have an appoint-"

Jessica ignored her, and opened the door to Hogarth’s office.

She immediately spotted said lawyer at her desk.

"Hey," Jessica greeted. “I need a case.”

Hogarth glanced at her in shock, then quickly looked away. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Wayne."

Jessica followed her gaze to see a man sitting in front of her. He turned around, and wouldn’t you know it, Bruce Wayne's face was suddenly staring back.

Oh shit.

"Jessica," Hogarth said politely. Jessica wasn’t fooled- she could practically hear Hogarth’s teeth grinding all the way across the room. “As you can see, I’m in a meeting-”

"It's alright, Jeri. We were just about finished anyway,” Wayne waved her off.

He stood up from his seat, turned toward her. “And who might you be?"

Jessica’s thought process stuttered, reeling over the sheer coincidence of the situation. Just last week she was hired to track this guy, and here he was, standing right in front of her. Jessica just stared at him in a confused stupor. She didn’t know how to respond, if she even should respond. That last thing she needed was to make conversation with the subject. He wasn’t even supposed to know she existed.

Hogarth quickly made her way around.

"Mr. Wayne, this is Jessica Jones," she introduced.

Fuck.

“She’s a private investigator,” Hogarth continued.

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

“I hire her on occasion.” Hogarth gave her a side glance. When Jessica just stared back, Hogarth raised her eyebrows, signaling her to speak.

"Yup,” Jessica begrudgingly chimed in. “That’s me.”

“On occasion meaning you’re not official?” Wayne inquired playfully.

“Well, you know me, Bruce,” Hogarth said. “I don’t like to show all my cards.”

Wayne chuckled. “You don’t like to show any cards, Jeri.”

He steered back towards Jessica. “Well, it’s nice to have another detective in town. Gotham doesn’t seem to get enough of them.”

Jessica snorted at the joke.

"How long have you been an investigator, Miss. Jones?" Wayne put his hands in his pockets, an air of casualness.

Jessica eyed him cautiously, hesitant to answer. Usually, she was the one asking questions.

"Long enough," she finally replied. Not a real answer, but good.

“Well, you know, our legal department’s been meaning to hire more investigators,” said Wayne, thoughtfully. “We would be more than happy to sign you on.”

If Jessica’s brain stuttered before, it was full-on malfunctioning now. A giant, red “ERROR” message was flashing in her mind. Did he seriously just offer her a job? On the spot?

“That is, if you’re interested,” he added.

Jessica huffed in disbelief. Was this guy so delusionally rich he'd just offer her a job, without even checking her out? Did he do this with everybody? How the fuck was this a good way to run a business?

She scanned him, searching to see what his problem was. To his credit, he didn't seem unnerved by it. He just kept his ground, waited patiently.

“Thanks, but I hardly think I’m good enough for Wayne Enterprises,” she said, still eyeing him suspiciously.

“Well, you’re good enough for Jeri,” he motioned towards Hogarth.

“Oh please, Bruce,” chided Hogarth. “Don’t steal my employees just because I have a better eye than you.”

Wayne just smiled. “Fair enough.”

He threw a wink before making a show of checking his watch.

“Well, I’m afraid I've got business elsewhere but it was a pleasure meeting you, Jessica” he nodded her way, and then to Hogarth, “Jeri.”

He swiftly left the room, and Hogarth wasted no time being petty.

“Business elsewhere,” she snorted. “Probably a trip to Europe with some Swedish supermodel.” She made her way back to her desk, gracefully sitting herself down in her expensively large office chair.

“What I’d give to be him,” Hogarth sighed.

Jessica just looked back at the door, thinking. So that was Bruce Wayne? He was… exactly how she imagined; a handsome, charming businessman reeking of money and privilege, so rich he was on a different planet. Not even aware of how the outside world worked, not even caring who he hired for his own company. A foreigner, made out of hollowed plastic.

She didn’t get it. There were hundreds of other rich assholes like him. What made him so different? Why was everyone so obsessed with him? Why was Jason...

“Jessica!” Hogarth snapped, bringing her focus back. “What do you want?”

Oh. Right.

“I need a case,” said Jessica. “One that pays well, ” she hesitated before adding, “Really well.”

Hogarth, ever the shark, caught on immediately. “Don’t tell me you’re in trouble, Jessica.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “I’m not-”

“The only reason why I hired you in the first place is because of your clean record.”

“Yeah, I know-”

“If you’ve gotten involved with anything illegal-”

“Jesus, I haven’t!” Jessica exclaimed. “Relax, okay. It’s nothing like that.” She looked off to the side, the image of Trish in her head, “I’ve got a family emergency, okay?”

“A family emergency,” Hogarth repeated skeptically.

“Yeah,” said Jessica. “It’s my sister.”

Hogarth raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Yeah, well,” Jessica sighed in exasperation, “I do.”

Hogarth looked at her for a moment, before deciding Jessica was telling the truth.

“Well, you’re in luck. I need a summons delivered. It’s a big lawsuit. It will pay well,” Hogarth gave her a look, “significantly well.”

“I’ll need the money right away,” Jessica grimaced, knowing she was pushing it.

“You know that’s not how I do things,” said Hogarth.

“Look, I’ll…” This was it. “I’ll owe you a favor.”

Hogarth’s eyes lit up, the magic words spoken. But she didn’t latch on. Not yet.

"You said it yourself," Jessica carried on. "I'm the best investigator you know. Eight investigators couldn't take on the cases you gave them, except for me-"

"I know,” Hogarth quietly interrupted. A second passed, and Jessica could tell she was thinking it over. “Okay. I can pull some strings.”

Relief waved through Jessica’s shoulders, making her aware of the knots and tension she carried in there. She suddenly felt so sore, so tired.

Hogarth passed her a file, information on the case. “Don’t forget. You owe me a favor.”

Jessica nodded. “I’ll text you when I’m done.”

She turned to walk away, but paused, curiosity taking over.

“So,” she drawled. “What’s he like?”

"Bruce Wayne?" Hogarth questioned. "You just saw for yourself."

"Yeah, but… I mean," her mind raced. Hollowed plastic, not really a person. She used to think the same about Trish, before actually getting to know her. “There’s more to him than that, right?”

Hogarth simply stared back. "Goodbye Jessica."

She sighed in annoyance. Day drinking it was.

Hogarth’s subject won’t be back in town until later this evening. Jessica will get paid in time, but she’d be cutting it close. To distract herself from the ongoing anxiety she’s been feeling all fucking day, she pulled up any info she could get on Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne. Age, thirty-eight. Son of Thomas Wayne and Martha Kane, dedicated philanthropists and responsible for the majority of charities circled around Gotham City.

So, the people of Gotham viewed the Waynes as their saving grace. It explains their devotion towards them.

Thomas and Martha Wayne were tragically murdered in Crime Alley, a mugging gone wrong. Bruce Wayne witnessed the scene. He was nine years old.

She paused at that. Witnessing your parents' death at such a young age, in such a brutal way. That would change a person. Jessica's mind flashed to her own family…

No. She couldn't get into that. Not now.

A short time later, Bruce Wayne disappeared from public view.

Doing what?

Jessica made a note.

Now the owner of Wayne Enterprises and the Wayne corporation, Bruce Wayne is the richest man in Gotham City, and one of the richest in the world.

A ton of power. And what has he done with it?

Bruce Wayne proudly built and invested in the Gotham City Orphanage.

Ah, okay. It makes sense, based on his past.

Bruce Wayne himself has three adopted children. The oldest, Dick Grayson. Working as a cop in Blüdhaven.

Hopefully this case won’t get to the point where she had to look into him. Jessica really didn’t have the mental capacity to go back to Blüdhaven.

The youngest, Tim Drake. Student at Gotham University.

One in Gotham. Good. And a couple of articles point to him being the future heir of Wayne Enterprises. Even better.

Jason Todd. Tragically died in a skiing accident.

She froze.

Jason.

Wait.

Son of a bitch.

She typed in 'Jason Todd'.

Nothing appeared. Jessica clicked on the next page. Still nothing. No picture, no bio. It was like he never existed.

It couldn't be a coincidence. It couldn't. It had to be the same guy. But if so, why say he's dead? He's obviously not. And the scar…

Her mind flashed back to the image of his face, the damaged J on his cheek.

A skiing accident couldn't have done that. Was… was Bruce Wayne responsible for that?

She thought back to her interaction with Wayne. How charming and cool he appeared. It could all easily be an act. Money and power were often tied with corruption, and with the amount that Wayne had, Jessica wouldn’t be surprised if there was something there, lurking behind the expensive suit and dazzling smile.

It could’ve been a ploy, offering her a job. Maybe Wayne was trying to keep an eye on her…

No. She was being paranoid. Jessica had no confirmation this Jason guy and Jason Todd were the same person. Jason could be lying about his name for all she knew. Maybe it was a code name. A symbol of honor for the dead kid?

She glanced back at the time. It was getting close to eight. Jessica had a summons she had to deliver. With a heavy sigh, she closed her laptop, deciding to push it all back for now.

Jessica grabbed her flask and filled it with booze. She grabbed her bag, her camera, and swiftly exited her apartment. When she closed the door and walked away, she left the mystery there. Sitting in her apartment, waiting in the dark. She wanted to fix it, to figure it out. But she couldn’t, not yet.

She had to save her own ass first.

[nozumonagito]

Overwhelmed

Naeleon (Makoto Naegi/Leon Kuwata)

(minor)emotional hurt/comfort fic. cw: yelling, demeaning of self, emotional outbursts. ~2k words

tldr; Leon is very overwhelmed, luckily he has Makoto there to help him

Based on this submission from @naeleon-headcanon-blog

Books? Check. Notebooks? Check. Blankets and a change of clothes? Check and check. Rucksack full of snacks he had stolen from the kitchen? Check!

Everything for operation date night was ready.

Carefully placing everything into his emptied school bag, Makoto slipped it onto his back and stuffed his room key into his pocket. A glance at the clock reassured him that it was only 9:20, there was still half an hour before he had to be heading out. But he had already finished his homework for the night, and there wasn't enough time to get started on a new project… it'd be fine to show up early, he reasoned.

He settled on the thought, locking his door behind him. With a smile on his face he turned to head down the hall, and almost ran straight into Yasuhiro. The clairvoyant was immediately on edge, jumping back from their barely-avoided collision and almost dropping his phone. They stared at each other for a moment, a look of understanding passing between them before the mystic smiled at him. "You gonna tell Taka I'm sneaking out?"

"I won't tell if you don't, Hiro."

The taller laughed, patting his shoulder and wishing him the best before running past him down the stairs. He could faintly hear him meeting up with some upperclassmen in the stairwell before their voices faded away.

Shaking his head, Makoto adjusted his bag and headed down the hall. It was always a little weird walking through the empty halls at night, but he could sometimes hear an exceptionally loud laugh from Mondo's room, or the sound of an anime opening from Hifumi's, and the sliver of light from beneath doors was enough of a reminder that everyone was there. He slowed down as he passed Ishimaru's room, trying to make his footsteps as quiet as possible. He really didn't want to be late for movie night because Taka caught him near curfew again.

But there was no light coming from behind the door, meaning he had either gone to bed early or was somewhere else, and it was enough of a confidence boost to let Makoto hurry the rest of the way to Leon's room. With midterms coming up they hadn't had much time to hang out lately, and he was eager to finally relax together. As he got closer to the door though, he was concerned with what he heard.

"-can't possibly be that fuckin' difficult! Piece of shit!"

There was no doubt it was Leon yelling, and he hesitated by the door. He could hear the distinct thud, thud, thud of something hitting the wall, and could picture the Ultimate throwing a tennis ball against the wall. One of the first years, Ryoma, had given him one after he put a hole in the wall from throwing his baseball at it. Using a softer ball was definitely an improvement, but there were still dents in the wall from the frequency and he could only imagine how it bothered other students.

Was… that why Hiro had left? They shared a wall, and he'd seen the clairvoyant take walks before when his neighbour was stressed, but for him to make plans for the night and leave? How long had Leon been at it?

The cry of "Motherfuc-" broke off into silence as Makoto knocked on the door. The banging against the wall stopped, and it was growing eerily quiet. He waited a few seconds, but when there was no answer he knocked again.

"Leon…?" No answer. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he grabbed the handle. "Hey, I'm coming in, okay?"

The door swung open easily, it was hardly ever locked. Inside, he could see a textbook open on the desk, crumpled balls of paper overflowing from the waste bin next to it. Leon was standing by the chair, tennis ball in hand as he stared down at the book. As he walked in, Makoto couldn't help but notice there was a new dent in the wall by the bed. He set his book bag on the bed slowly, not wanting to startle Leon.

The ball in his hand bulged as he squeezed it, knuckles turning white as his other hand gripped the chair. He hadn't looked up once since he'd walked in the room, but his chest rose and fell quickly, as if struggling to get enough air. "Makoto… 's not a good time…" he mumbled, head turning slightly towards the lucky student. "Gonna need to, uh… cancel tonight..."

Regardless of his words, Makoto sat on the bed, pulling his legs up beneath him. They'd been in this situation before, each time Leon quietly asking him to leave. But he knew better than that, knew that the baseball star would only spiral further if left to his own devices. Instead, he just asked "What happened?"

He could see Leon freeze up, see the tension that coursed through him as his hands twitched, gripping the chair beside him as if it was a lifeline. The tennis ball dropped to the desk, bouncing a little against others in a bowl. "...Homework. Was tryin' to get it done before you came over, but I-" he broke off, running a hand through his hair.

Frustration was worming it's way into his voice. "Was tryin' to do these math problems but every time I start I fuck it up!" His voice was growing louder, frustration turning into anger as he grabbed a ball from the bowl and tossed it between his hands. "It shouldn't be this fuckin' difficult, right?! I mean, what the hell! Chi can do this shit in his sleep, and I can't even do one problem without fucking it up!"

Makoto's eyes darted to the ball, quickly returning to his face to show he was paying attention. The redhead's face was twisted in a sneer, and his eyes were focusing on nothing in specific, looking through whatever was in his line of sight. "Doesn't Chihiro usually help you with math?" he asked quietly, watching his classmate pace from one end of the room to another.

"Yeah, usually. He had some dumbass council thing tonight, asked if I could do it myself. Told him yeah, what the hell else would I tell 'im?!" Leon groaned loudly, running a hand through his hair again as he turned on his heel and paced back the way he just came. "Dude takes time out of his day to help me out all the time, can't just tell him no! Figured we'd done enough that I could manage one night on my own. It's just one night! Just three fuckin' problems! I shouldn't have this much fuckin' trouble-"

"Leon, wait, that's-!"

"-With an easy ass REMEDIAL CLASS!!" The baseball whizzed through the air regardless of Makoto's warning, hitting the lamp on his nightstand dead center and sending it crashing to the floor. Both boys stopped to look at it, the light flickering from behind the broken lampshade. "SHIT!!" Leon smacked his head, covering his eyes as he tried to calm himself down. "Can't believe I just did something so fucking stupid!!"

"Don't beat yourself up, you didn't-" Makoto started to say, but stopped himself as he saw Leon stop pacing and pull at his hair, eyes squeezed shut.

"Stupid! Stupid stupid stupid!!"

"Leo-"

"STUPIDSTUPIDSTUPIDSTUPIDSTUPIDSTUPID!!!"

A gentle hand resting on Leon's arm made his eyes snap open, watery grey eyes searching Makoto's face desperately. He led the baseball player to the bed slowly, sitting him down and grabbing a thermos from his bag to offer him a drink. "Here, take a sip" he spoke softly, his hand never leaving his arm as he squeezed it reassuringly.

Leon took a long sip, taking a shuddering breath like he had forgotten how to breathe. He was practically hyperventilating, tears streaking their way down his face and Makoto sat beside him, making Leon look at him. "Hey, it's okay, I'm right here. Can you count with me? 10… 9… 8…" Quietly, Leon's voice joined his own, continuing with him down to one.

Squeezing his arm, Makoto took the thermos from his shaking hands, setting it on the nightstand. "There we go… Can you tell me what day it is?"

"...Wednesday."

"Where are we?"

"...Hope's Peak."

"What's your talent?"

"....Fuckin' baseball."

"Who am I?"

Leon's breathing had started to calm down, blinking as he looked slowly up at his companion. "Koto… my boyfriend…"

Makoto gave him a gentle smile, nodding his head and taking shaking hands into his own. His fingers ran over the decorative rings his boyfriend was still wearing, and he felt Leon grip his hands like he'd disappear. "Yep, I'm right here for you. Always."

It wasn't the first time Leon had had an overload in front of him, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but he knew the boy was afraid of scaring him off. The first time he'd thrown something in front of him, Leon had avoided him for a week, paranoid that he wouldn't want to be around him anymore. Makoto would be lying if he said it wasn't concerning, but he was determined to understand, setting aside time to sit down privately with Leon and talk to him about it.

He was easily overwhelmed if he felt he wasn't good enough at something, and his relying on baseball to get him through school had meant he never really learnt how to study. Now that he was in Hope's Peak, surrounded by people who were all experts in their field, he was finding it harder and harder not to get angry at himself when he couldn't do something. Usually he could push the feeling inside, but it would keep building and building until he couldn't keep pushing it down, and if something particularly difficult happened, or he heard too many of what he labelled as "bad sounds", or he was having an off day, his brain would go into an overload and he'd shut down, unable to control his anger at himself.

This was something that Makoto was sort of familiar with, as too much stimuli or conflicting sounds could send him into a sensory overload, and he could relate on some level. He didn't get angry, like Leon did, but he'd had his fair share of crying sessions in his dorm after a particularly difficult day with stimuli. He'd made extra-sure that Leon knew what he experienced was valid, and reassured him that he wasn't scared. Since that day, he'd caught Leon on the verge of breaking a few times, and once in the middle of an episode. Each time he sat down and helped him work through it, reassuring him that he wasn't stupid or an idiot like he claimed.

"Why do you keep helping me, Koto?" Leon asked suddenly, his face buried in Makoto's hair as he held him close. His voice was barely above a whisper, cracking as he spoke. "Nothing makin' you deal with me when I'm like... this… hell, half the time I'm yelling at you to leave. Why bother?"

Makoto hugged him tightly, pressing a chaste kiss to his shoulder. "Because you're worth it, Leon... I wish you could see that."

He felt him laugh, but there was no humour behind it. The loud student was tired, having worn himself out emotionally. He leaned back against the wall, pulling Makoto with him. There was a moment of silence as they situated themselves, neither one wanting to destroy the comfortable silence they found themselves in.

"...I love you, man."

Though his eyes were closed, he could practically hear the smile in Makoto's voice. "Love you too, Leon."

[winter-turtle]

House Of Wolves - Chapter 2 - Winterturtle - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

Tony being human disaster.

Chapter 2: Endeavors And Disasters

The moving came as a surprise to Peter. Stark just showed up a few hours after dropping him off in his cell and then took him here. Instead of the dull grey, the walls here were white, not to mention without stains of suspicious origin like when Peter’s family was forced to squat somewhere and there was an actual bathroom this time. The only downside was that there was no door, but it was still a whole separate room.

Privacy.

Peter kept thinking about the interrogation session ever since it ended. It’s been hours and he couldn’t figure out what had possessed him to reveal his name, but he saw no real harm in it.

For all the world knew, the Parker family��s been dead for years. There was nothing in their name; no bank accounts, no cards, no phone numbers, so they really couldn’t link anything to them. Not even his parents’ clients didn’t know their real names as there was always different name per client. Only codenames remained the same.

And hey! For all the Avengers knew, he could have taken an advantage of a missing family’s identity-

The door opened, pulling Peter out of his musing.

“What the- why are you on the floor?”

Peter lazily blinked. “The mattress is too soft. I feel like I’m about to sink,” he replied flatly to very concerned-looking Stark.

“Uh, yeah, right,” the man rubbed the back of his neck in the same manner like Peter did when he was about to get sensory overload, “we can get a harder mattress if that’s what you prefer. Just please don’t sleep on the floor.”

Funny. Peter was used to sleeping on the floor. Though he preferred sleeping curled in the corner, sticking to the ceiling. He wasn’t sure if his spider part was responsible for that particular habit, but he felt the safest there.

Unfortunately, the option to sleep on the ceiling was taken away from him.

“What do you want?” Peter asked, not getting up from his spot. It was time for breakfast and yet he didn’t see any plate in the man’s hands. So, that’s how it was gonna be. Interrogation without-

Stark pointed to the hall behind him with his thumb. “Breakfast. Let’s go.”

Wait, what?

Peter sat up, confused. “Where?”

“The magic place where food is usually prepared and eaten, also known as,” he drummed his fingers in the air in dramatic pause, “the kitchen.”

“Why?”

The mechanic threw his head back. “Do you want to eat or not?”

Peter did, so he obliged.

Expecting the familiar force to pull his wrists behind his back, Peter put on his best defiant face. But nothing happened. Instead, Stark motioned for him to leave the room. Peter did and still nothing happened.

Were the bracelets faulty or something?

“Well, are you coming?”

“Didn’t you forget something?”

“Hmm, nope, I don’t think so,” Stark said as he walked, not waiting for the boy.

“Why isn’t he concerned about leaving me unrestrained?”Peter thought, going for light jog to catch up, confusion painting his features.

Pleasant smell wafted through the air the closer they got to the kitchen. Peter’s expression shifted into badly concealed curiosity. He sniffed the air once, twice, concluding that whatever was being made there, it smelled good enough to make his mouth water.

They entered and Peter could swear he saw several flashes of shocked expressions coming from the Avenger seated at the table before Stark had the chance to announce their presence. Rogers, standing in front of the stove, was the first one to break out from the stupor. He plastered his typical patriotic smile on his face. “Good morning, Peter.”

Peter gave him an unimpressed look in return. Stark motioned with his hand at the table, his hand barely missing Peter’s back.

His instincts briefly took over, making him stiffen in anticipation of the pain and ready to fight.

Peter, shoulders falling in relief when no touch came, took the nearest free chair, which was between Wilson and Barton. Barnes was opposite of him, looking at him in the way that kind of reminded Peter of the looks Stark sometimes gave him. “What?” he snapped.

Barnes’ expression shifted, this time into one that Peter recognized. Guilt. “Nothing. Sorry,” he mumbled, quickly averting his gaze.

Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, Peter kept staring at the man until Rogers placed a plate in front of him. “Here you go.”

All words died on his tongue, his eyes comically wide when he looked down. He hoped nobody noticed, but holy shit.In front of him laid nicely stacked perfectly round pancakes. And those were no regular pancakes.

They were chocolate chip!

His mouth began to water even more. Peter was basically an acid when it came to sweets. Chocolate was a rarity in his life. He only got it for special occasions like his birthday or if he did exceptionally well on a mission, or when he managed to find enough loose coins on the streets.

Peter dug right in. The heavenly taste of the chocolate spread across the tongue, the fluffy texture making it feel like he was chewing on a cloud. Hands down, these were the best pancakes he’s ever eaten. Honestly, they were so good it could make him start to consider switching the sides.

Kidding. He would never betray his parents. But the pancakes were still good.

“Do you like them?” Rogers asked.

Peter’s head snapped up, his stuffed cheeks dusting pink once he registered amused looks of the Avengers. “Yeah,” he forced out around the food before swallowing, “they’re alright. Thanks, Rogers.” Because he got some manners after all.

The man winced. “Just call me Steve, son.”

“Sure thing. Let me try again then. Thanks, Call-Me-Steve.”

Barton snorted, choking on the food in the process. Romanov slapped his back while, her mutter of the word ‘dumbass’almost drowned out by others’ laughter.

“Ah, you little shit,” Stark said as he wiped a tear from his eye, “I like you. Want some more pancakes?”

Peter shrugged, but mentally cheered. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” And sooner than he thought, he made it through another plate. Then he was offered another refill and then one more.

But… there was something odd to the taste. Something Peter couldn’t quite place, but it made his mouth a bit tingly. In the end, he just wrote it off as not being used to that much sugar and who knew what kind of special and expensive ingredients they could afford to buy.

He was halfway through the fourth serving when the questions started.

“Damn, do you have a bottomless pit instead of your stomach or something?” Stark asked. “I swear I’ve never seen someone keeping up with Rogers and Barnes when it comes to eating.”

Peter briefly considered pros and cons of telling the truth. Last time he gave them a piece of information about himself, he got an upgrade in accommodation. Maybe he’ll get another upgrade after this? Well… it was worth a try. “No, just fast metabolism.”

“How much food do you need?” Romanov asked.

Peter snorted. “More than a single sandwich.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Rogers asked.

Peter straightened his back and put on his most serious expression. “Hi, I’m Captain America. Whether you’re a student, or a soldier, there’s one thing that will always give you an edge,” he paused, one corner of his mouth rising slightly, “a hot lunch. You don’t have to be injected with secret government super soldier serum to have strong bones and muscles. A well-balanced diet is one of the best ways to keep your body healthy. The food pyramid will help you find the balance,” he finished with a mock salute before shoving another piece of pancake into his mouth. “You didn’t ask.”

Rogers grimaced. “They still show those?”

“Don’t know,” Peter shrugged. “I never went to school, but they’re all on the internet. But listen to me, Call-Me-Steve, what I’m trying to say is: save your PSAs for someone else, ‘cuz they sure as hell won’t work on me.”

Barnes chuckled, nudging Roger with his elbow. “What did you get roped into?”

“Okay, but am I the only one who finds it weird that he has the whole thing memorized?” Rhodes piped in.

“No, but I have different question,” Barton said as he leaned towards Peter, looking at him intently. Peter braced himself. Here it was. The questioning.

“What did Tony do to make you talk in just one sitting?”

Peter blinked twice. That was… surprisingly petty. “He’s… annoying. Don’t take me wrong, you’re annoying too, but he’s special brand of annoying.”

“Geez, thanks kid. I take that as a compliment.”

“So, you did it to shut him up?”

“Yep.”

As it turned out, four plates were his limit. Peter released long, satisfied sigh. Wow. He didn’t remember the last time his stomach felt so full. He only got to eat that much before missions to ensure he was in top condition, which-

Peter frowned. Now come to think of it, he got no extra food before this mission.

“Kid… that’s called abuse.”

That was- no. No!

“…hurting their own children is not something normal parents do.”

There was no way they wanted to… get rid of him. No, they were just waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Same as they came for you in the past three weeks?”

Yeah, that had to be it. So, shoving away the statements that wormed their way under his skin and getting rid of that train of thoughts, Peter focused on the pleasant feeling of his full stomach.

It would be better if the strange tingling left though. It stubbornly lingered in his mouth even after two glasses of water. Oh well. He would trade the slight discomfort for full stomach anytime.

He was led back to his room when the Avengers started to clean the table. He didn’t mind, strangely.

Maybe… maybe they weren’t so bad after all.

Peter’s stomach churned. He wrote it off as being full after such a long time.

“See?” Tony held his head high, the proud feeling radiating off of him. “It worked.”

So early and he was already on a good track. The change of the room and good food – plus the new mattress, but that one had yet to arrive – were only the beginning. He just returned from the gym where he was putting everything that could be used as a weapon away. He assumed the kid would appreciate some physical activity after weeks of confinement.

“He wasn’t even his usual rude self! Well, for the most part. I think he was just cranky because he was hungry.”

“Don’t celebrate in advance,” Natasha warned, “or you’ll jinx it.”

“Me? Jinx it? Please,” Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m practically a lucky charm of this team. Seriously, what could go wrong?”

“Boss,” Friday’s voice came from the speaker, interrupting his boasting. “Peter has been throwing up for the past ten minutes.”

“You were saying?” Rhodey deadpanned after a moment of dead silence.

“Shut up.”

There was no sign of the kid or the pancakes when he opened the door to the kid’s room/cell. “Peter?” Tony called out. A dry heave coming from the bathroom prompted him to move.

The sight that greeted him made his expression fall instantly. The poor kid was hunched over the toilet, shaking like a leaf, his face pale and sweat plastering his messy curls to his forehead. “Oh, kiddo,” Tony said sadly. He kneeled next to the boy, placed his hand on Peter’s back and began to rub soothing circles on his back.

The kid tensed. “Don’t touch—” Another round of his stomach turning itself inside out cut off the threat.

Tony grimaced. Well, there were those pancakes. Reluctantly, he let go, hoping that his presence alone would be enough to provide at least some comfort. After what could have been three minutes, the heaving stopped.

“You assholes poisoned me,” the kid accused weakly.

“What? No, no, no,” Tony was quick to deny, “you were there with us, we all ate the same thing and we’re alright. There was no way someone poisoned you. Why would we ruin Cap’s famous chocolate chip and mint pancakes and made you sick?”

“Mint?! You- bleh.”

And the heaving was back. Honestly, Tony wondered how the kid managed to bring something up after he’s been praying to the porcelain goddess for so long. But… mint? “What’s up with mint?”

The sound of Clint smacking his forehead echoed in the small bathroom. “Spiders don’t like mint. Laura uses it to keep the little buggers out,” he added when the team sent him questioning looks. “And he ate four plates of those pancakes.”

“Leave,” the kid rasped out.

“Kid, I don’t think—”

“Leave!” Peter said more forcefully before he shoved his head into the toilet once more.

Tony, although reluctantly, stood up. “Okay.”

“Tones,” Rhodey let out soft protest.

“It’s no use now,” he mouthed. “Come on,” Tony said and ushered his teammates out, throwing concerned looks over his shoulder the whole time.

“I didn’t know he couldn’t eat mint,” Steve said once they were back in the hallway, his head bowed down.

“Neither did we, Steve,” Sam patted Steve’s shoulder, “neither did we.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“We know.”

Peter laid curled into a pathetic ball on the floor. The moment his stomach had nothing left to expel, he splashed his face with cold water and dragged himself as far away from the lingering smell as he could, which wasn’t exactly far. He rested his head on a pillow he’s pulled off the bed and he was here, breathing through waves of cramps.

Stupid.

He was so stupid, thinking that the group of heroes wasn’t that bad. Just look where that got him. His parents always said that he was too optimistic, too gullible and trusting. Ingesting mint used to be a punishment for him, although it’s been so long since there was a need to use it that he forgot how horrible it made him feel.

It was only when his stomach was painfully cramping that he realized that the tingly feeling in his mouth wasn’t because of the sugar, but because of the mint. It happened every time he brushed his teeth, though in much smaller extent, so he was used to it.

Peter released shaky breath, closed his eyes and buried his face further into the pillow. Sleep always helped, so that’s what he planned to do.

Unfortunately, the universe seemed to hate him because Stark walked in in that same moment, carrying a steaming bowl of something and an apologetic expression on his face.

“Hey,” he greeted softly.

“You again?”

Peter was tired. He wanted to rest. He didn’t have any energy left to argue with the billionaire.

“Kid, look. We had no idea this would happen, but I’m sorry anyway.” When Peter didn’t reply, he continued. “You said you have fast metabolism and there’s literally nothing in your stomach to give you energy. You’re also most likely dehydrated. So, here,” he said and approached the sad heap. “I got you home-made chicken broth to replenish those electrolytes and rehydrate you.”

“Electrolytes that you made me lose,” Peter gritted through his teeth. “Don’t want it.”

“Kid, please—”

Peter shot the man weak glare. “Go away.” Another wave of cramps hit his stomach, making him curl into even tighter ball, barely swallowing down a whimper.

If there was something the boy hated the most, it was showing weakness in front of an enemy.

He was aware of Stark’s eyes on him. The man sighed, then placed the ceramic bowl within Peter’s reach. “I will leave it here in case you change your mind.”

The lock clicked after that, leaving him alone at last. He dragged his eyes to the bowl and just watched the steam dance above it. It smelled great. But no, he couldn’t…

Or could he?

What if it was really just an accident? True, he never told them and he didn’t think they had any way of knowing either. So, maybe… just a sip… but he shouldn’t… was it really a good idea?

He hated these conflicting feelings.

Ah, to hell with it! If he threw up again, it’ll be his own damn fault this time.

Carefully, Peter uncurled himself, leaned his back on the wall, reached for the bowl and blew on it before taking a sip. The rich flavor combined with the warmth of the broth spreading through his body made him relax immediately and soothed his stomach.

When he deemed himself full enough, he put the bowl down, and curled back so he faced the bed. Watching the single forgotten dust bunny in the corner, he fell asleep.

Later, when Tony went to collect the almost empty bowl, he got on one knee and threw the blanket over Peter’s sleeping form. Watching the steady rise and fall of the kid’s chest, he carefully moved his hand towards the kid’s head and e began to run his fingers through the brown curls.

The action elicited a reaction, although not unpleasant.

The kid sighed in content and subconsciously leaned into the touch, making Tony smile. It was enough to givie him a confidence boost.

He could do it.

The day his stomach was turning inside out, Peter was left mostly alone. He slept through most of the day anyway, though when he woke up, he was confused about the blanket on him. He didn’t remember covering himself before falling asleep, which meant that someone, and he had a pretty good hunch who, did it for him. He found that weird.

Because why would anyone bother with making sure he was comfy? Back home, if he fell asleep without the blanket, he slept without the blanket. Simple as that.

Oddly, some part of him was… touched by the gesture. It was like something stirred in his soul. Something… something warm.

Sure, the thought of an enemy in the same room as him while he was vulnerable got him on edge, but at least he didn’t wake up cold.

The next day, he refused to leave the room. All attempts to coax him out fell flat. They were back to delivering the meals to him. Thankfully, there were no more sandwiches.

Yesterday, Stark brought him a book. Peter decided not to accept the gift/peace offering, but the boredom eventually won and he found himself reading it. He almost laughed when he spotted the knife on the book’s cover and actually barked out a laugh when he saw that the title.

Should they be giving him a book that was calledThe Knife Of Never Letting Go? Peter didn’t think so.

Though he quickly found himself rooting for Todd to get away from his hometown’s army and reach safety.

And now they were today, back at the coaxing.

“So, uh,” Stark squirmed under Peter gaze. It was strange to see otherwise confident man to act like this. “Do you want to go to the gym? To get some movement? Only if you feel up to it, that is.”

Peter, as much as he hated to admit it, didn’t think about the offer for too long. He would kill to get some actual movement. Those few squats and push-ups he could do in the privacy of the bathroom were nothing compared to his usual training regime. Plus, he didn’t want to get through the book too quickly since he wasn’t sure whether he would get another one.

“You’ll like it there,” Stark, obviously relieved, kept on babbling as he walked ahead of the boy.

Peter was baffled by the man’s decision of repeatedly exposing his back to him. It would be so easy to jump at him, even without his powers, and snap his neck and nobody would be able to do anything about it.

“I think you will be able to use the equipment our two super grandpas.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

But… Peter found himself not wanting to.

Why was Stark being so… so nice? There had to be some ulterior mo-

A sudden stabbing pain in his wrists had him stop dead in his tracks, tiny yelp escaping past his lips. Squinting, he brough his wrists up to his face to look at the bracelets.

A faint numbness began to spread from underneath them. A second later, a wave of lightheadedness washed over Peter’s whole body, making his limbs feel weak and his eyelids heavy in the process. He realized far too late what was happening.

“Oh, motherfu—”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence as his knees buckled. The world turned black just before he hit the floor.

“Come on, kiddo, open those Bambi eyes of yours,” Tony said as he frantically patted Peter’s cheek. How could he be so stupid?No, really. How? He was the one who designed the bracelets. He knew all about the functions included.

So just exactly how did he forget about the fail-safe?

The fail-safe that was specifically designed to inject quick acting sedatives into their wearer in case of an escape. Once they crossed a certain point – bam! It’s a night-night for at least an hour. More that enough time to collect the escapee.

“Man, how did you forget about the fail-safe?” Sam asked from where he was hovering over the duo on the ground, knowing he wouldn’t be much of an use in their current situation. He offered to spare with the kid in case he wanted to since Tony didn’t want neither super soldier sparring with now-average teen, though he doubted that Barnes would say yes if asked and fighting with Natasha could be interpreted wrongly after the horrific revelation.

“I don’t know, I just forgot,” Tony forced through his teeth before he resumed the patting. “Wakey-wakey, spider-baby, nap time’s over.” Lordy, he’s really done it now. Peter didn’t as much as stir.

Tony tapped Peter’s cheek a tad stronger. He hoped the action along with the kid’s fast metabolism will rouse him soon enough.

The minutes felt like the whole eternity, but finally, Peter began to stir.

“Pete? You with us?”

The kid looked painfully young as opened his bleary eyes, blinking several times to get rid of the hazy fog that was without a doubt shrouding his mind. “Wha…”

Tony’s shoulders fell with relieved exhale. “Oh, thank God. You okay?”

He didn’t know why he asked that. It was obvious that the kid was in fact not okay if his weak attempts to sit up were anything to go by. Tony put his hand on Peter’s back and gave him the boost, mindful to be as gentle as possible. One of the points to spark the change in the kid was to introduce him to a concept that not every touch had to be painful.

A concept that was no doubt alien to him.

“Don’t t—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, don’t touch me, I know,” Tony said as he put his hands up in surrender, but remained in vicinity in case the kid toppled over.

The whole process kind of reminded him of helping an overturned turtle.

“What the hell was that?” Peter asked, some of his usual snappiness returning.

“It was an accident, I swear! This was legitimately my bad. I,” Tony inhaled, “forgot to disable the fail-safe. I’m sorry.”

“A lot of accidents seem to happen ‘round you.”

Tony shrugged, wincing in the process. “What can I say? I’m very accident prone.”

Peter weakly smiled, mischief sparking in his eyes. “For a genius, you sure are a dumbass.”

“Thanks,” Tony deadpanned, “Once again, I take that as a compliment. But look,” he lifted up his watch brought up the menu and with a few presses changed the functions, “now you can roam the building all you want.”

The kid rolled his eyes, clearly not believing him, before making an attempt to stand up. He didn’t get too far before he, as Tony predicted, toppled over; right into Tony’s waiting arms.

See? Like helping overturned turtle. Drunk overturned turtle, but turtle nonetheless.

“Take it easy,” Tony said gently.

Peter pushed him away. “I’m fine. Let’s go to the gym.”

Much to Peter’s annoyance, he was deemed unfit to do any exercise after he struggled to remain on his feet. The process of getting to the common room was tedious and slow, mostly because he refused to accept help from either of the men.

He did pretty well with the wall alone, thank you very much.

With the gym out of the question, the movie night he learned was planned for later got turned into movie marathon. The group of heroes were milling around, busy with final preparations, while Peter nestled himself into the corner of a L-shaped couch, his slouched posture and displeased look radiating clear ‘don’t approach me’ message.

“I think,” Rogers said as he was reading something from his notebook, “Star Wars. I’ve been meaning to cross it off my list for a while now.”

“Finally!” Wilson muttered.

Peter tuned out the rest of the argument about how Rogers always took forever to pick when it was his turn and Rogers defending himself until a bowl of something white but nicely smelling was placed on his lap. “What’s that?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Popcorn,” Romanov said as she sat down with her own bowl.

“People usually eat that while watching movies,” Barton explained, smirking slightly.

“Wait, you,” Barnes joined in, awkwardly casual, “know what movies are, right?”

Stark sat down next to him “Ignore those idiots. They’re just teasing.”

Peter scowled, and for some reason unknown to him, switched to defense immediately. “You know, you all sure expose your backs to me a lot. I don’t think you realize how easy it would be for me to snap either of your necks.”

“Would it really?” Romanov asked, watching him sharply.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Peter replied, matter-of-factly.

Heavy silence settled over the room, all eyes on Peter as he popped a piece of popcorn in his mouth, tiny smile pulling at his lips.

Stark exhaled, quiet and shaky. “Fri, play the movie.”

Peter’s smugness soon turned into wide-eyed wonder as the movie enthralled him. He leaned forward whenever a lightsaber appeared on the screen and held his breath when the rebels were making the trench runs on the Death Star. His disappointment when the credits rolled was short-lived though. He learned there were several other movies, and since they were doing a marathon, another one was put on.

They were halfway through the third, or sixth, movie when Peter’s head lolled forward. The impromptu nap had to mess with him more than he thought, but he couldn’t fall asleep yet! He had to see how the story ended. When his head felt too heavy, he leaned it on the headrest and through sheer willpower, he kept his eyes opened.

It was only when the final shot of celebrating rebels turned into final credits he left them fall shut.

Peter was out like a light in an instant.

“He looks so innocent when he’s like this,” Bucky whispered.

“Hmm,” Clint hummed, his eyes sad. “It’s hard to imagine that someone like him killed someone. Do you think he really did it?”

Steve shrugged. “He admitted to it, didn’t he?” He turned to Tony. “I think it’s time—”

“To get him to bed?” Tony cut him off, “Yeah, I agree.”

“Tony—”

“I’ve still got a little over a week, don’t I?” he snapped. “I didn’t take you for one to throw the towel in the ring when it came to someone. Not after Germany. Not after Siberia.”

Just as Tony expected, the reminder of the events made the man clam up. Call him a douche, but if playing dirty would get Steve off the kid’s back, then so be it!

Without another word, he bent down and carefully gathered sleeping spider-kid into his arms. Peter nuzzled himself closer and grabbed a fistful of Tony’s shirt, making tiny but involuntary smile appear on Tony’s face.

“Tones,” Rhodey grinned, ��you’ve got a giant spider on you.”

Tony, grateful for the ice-breaker, rolled his eyes. “Hardy-har,” he said under his breath as he left the room.